FORTY CENTS 



4;^ -) 5 



ON THE WABASH 

A Comedy in Three Ads 



By 
ROBIN DUNBAR 

Author of "Arthur Sonten' 




THE STAGE SOCIETY 

SOUTH BEND, INDIANA 



im 



On Ihe Wabash 



A Comedy^ in Three Acts 



By 
ROBIN DUNBAR 



1914 

THE STAGE SOCIETY 

SOUTH BEND, INDIANA 






-35 



Copyright by R. E. Dunbar, 
1912 AND 1914. 



First Thousand. 

M 26 1914 

©C!.D 35787 



PREFACE. 



IN the introduction to ''Arthur Sonten" you will 
remember I offered a prize to that critic who would 
use the greatest number of ejaculatory-condemna- 
tory adjectives in describing the effect the play made 
upon him. In spite of the humble nature of the offer- 
ing ("Sir Archibald's best get"), I beg to report that 
the returns were most gratifying, and several of our 
prominent authorities fairly outvied each other in hurl- 
ing anathemas. Two in particular were so copious and 
so felicitous in their choice of epithets, that I fell into 
a quandary as to which of them I should make the 
award; until my partner, who furnished the grimal- 
kin, cut the Gordian knot by setting up a breeder's lien 
on Spitfire, the offspring in question. I would have 
bitterly resisted her claim were it not for the fact that 
she was the only one who fully complied with the terms 
of the competition and presented me with a sample of 
the Widow Cliquot's solace to wounded authors, to- 
gether with her critique. I shall be charged with favor- 
itism for this action, but I am ready to bear that charge 
along with a lot of other just and unjust accusations, 
as I have developed a peculiarly tough cuticle of late. 

The present comedy has been expurgated by an ex- 
pert in expurgations. He now warrants it will satisfy 
Christian and pagan, romanticist and realist, intellec- 
tual and blockhead. I am skeptical of his claim (it is 
a little broad!), yet on the faith of it my partner has 



imported another grimalkin, Little Queenie, and threat- 
ens to branch out as a regular breeder. Thus does 
Hope spring eternal in a partner's breast ! She defends 
her act by saying: ''Doesn't all the world love the 
well-bred Sir Archibald? Then why shouldn't it take 
to the finely-mannered Ned Knowlesf" To this I can 
only shake my head and turn gloomily towards my file 
of anonymous communications. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

Arthur Sonten, a comedy. Paper covers, 50 cents. 

Mrs. Merrivale's Finesse, a comedy of manners. 
Three acts. 

The Confidence Man, a comedy of morals. Four 
acts. 

Jack Stuffins, a farce-comedy. Three acts. 

Prince Lorenzo, a comedy of high-finance. Four 
acts. 

The General Strike, a labor play. Four acts. 

Vina Calterp, a problem play. Three acts. 

Thirteenth at Table, a tragi-comedy. Three acts. 

A WoMAN^s Home, a domestic comedy. One act. 



ON THE WABASH 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 



Ned Knowles, a careless student. 

Si Cart, a careful politician. 

Tobias Stoodenwhacker, a true poet. 

Hank Fox, an aid to Si Cart. 

Constable Told, an aid to Ned Knowles. 

Freddie Mills, the needed villain. 

Bill Popp, "j 

Hal Whopp, V aids to local color. 

James Maul, j 

Gwennie Cart, sweet sixteen, — or more. 

Pauline MacKinny, sour twenty-two, — or less. 

Samantha Stooden whacker, good and natural. 

Sal Slope, eloquent but silent. 

Maria Maul, silent but eloquent. 

Students, villagers, messenger boy, etc. 



ACT I. 

On the Campus of Paul University. A June after- 
noon. 

ACT II. 

In the Post-Office at Wauseon. An August morn- 
ing. 

ACT III. 

The Garden of Samantha. A September evening. 

The time is, "When we were twenty-one." 

Paul University is located somewhere in Indiana. 

Wauseon is on the Wabash. 



ON THE WABASH. 



ACT I. 

The Paul campus; dancing pavilion on the left and 
goal post back. College oak with seat on the right. 
Carpenters-horses, boards, saw and buck-saw back of 
pavilion. 

Samantha Stoodenwhacker, Si Cart and Gwennie 
Cart, his daughter, enter together. 

Samantha. This looks like the place, Silas, just as 
he wrote in his letter. {Producing an envelop and ex- 
tracting a sheet of writing paper. Adjusts her glasses 
and reads.) ''Dear Mater — Come immediately to the 
dancing pavilion where you will find me in supervision 
of construction." Whatever he means by that, land 
knows ! "Ask for your filius. Tobias." What in tar- 
nation is a filius, Si? 

Si. a filius ? I guess it's a kind of horse. 

Samantha. Sure ! It's a comfort to have an intel- 
ligent man like you along. Tobe's language is getting 
more high-falutin every day. He writes like a regular 
'cyclopedia. 

Si. He does throw in a couple of jaw-breakers now 
and then just to show off his college education, I guess. 

Samantha. He's real provoking, but he's took the 
highest honors in his class. I'm downright proud of 
Tobe. 



ON THE WABASH. 11 

Si. You ought to have the band meet him at the 
depot when he comes home. 

Samantha. That's so, — ^but don't it cost a lot? 

GwENNiE {peeking into pavilion). My sakes! Look 
here ! The floor is as smooth as our skating rink's ! 

Si {starting in) . So it is ! Come on, Samantha, but 
be careful you don't slip up. {He takes hold of her 
arm.) These here greased floors are mighty treacher- 
ous. 

Samantha. We're not as spry as we used to be, be 
we Silas ? {They go in. Pauline MacKinny in student 
gown and mortar-hoard enters with Tobias Stooden- 
whacker, who wears besides these, a pair of green 
goggles and pores over a book.) 

Pauline. What book are you interested in now 
that the exams are over? 

ToBE {grunts and turns over a page. Stands at tree 
reading.) Just so! 

Pauline {nudges him). Tobe, wake up! Don't 
you hear me? 

Tobe {turns another page). Don't interrupt my 
train of thought! 

Pauline. Your train of broom-handles! You're 
bound to die a regular bookworm. {She sits beneath 
the oak; he remains standing azvkwardty beside her.) 
What is it, anyways? {Snatches book from him and 
reads the title.) "Black Hyacinths". I'm ashamed of 
you ! Such frivolity ! 

Tobe {hotly). Give it back! I was only half 
thru. It's a book written by a herdsman for his flock. 

Pauline. Then it's not for you, for you don't be- 
long to the herd. You're one of the remnant. 



12 ON THE WABASH. 

ToBE. That's not a compliment, even if you mean it 
as one. My education should fit me to lead the plain 
people to the hights. It shouldn't isolate me. 

Pauline. It shouldn't, — ^but it does. I'm glad 
school's out. I'm for life and good times from now 
on. No more beastly grinds for mine. 

ToBE. The halcyon days are over, — now comes the 
summer sun to bless or blight the seed we've sown. 

Pauline. Some of the girls talk of becoming teach- 
ers. I prefer baking bread to making boobies. 

Tobe (oracularly). Marriage is the true sphere of 
woman. 

Pauline. You've seen that somewhere in a book! 
Ned Knowles doesn't talk like that, does he? 

Tobe. One thing I admire about Ned is, while he 
is not a poet, yet he is intensely interested in poetry. 

Pauline. He says that to please you. 

Tobe. I don't think so low of him as that. Please 
explain. 

Pauline.^ I'll explain some other day. I must go 
now. 

Tobe. To chapel? I'll go with you, if you don't 
mind. 

Pauline. I do mind, tho ; everybody notices me 
when I enter with you. And they get up such hor- 
rible grinds about us in ''The Orion." 

Tobe. It is better to be made fun of yourself than 
to make fun of others. 

Told (a constable, enters and stops in front of 
Tobe.) Be you Ned Knowles? If you be, I want 
you; come along. 



ON THE WABASH. 13 

ToBE. No; I'm not Ned Knowles, I'm glad to 
say — 

Pauline. Why do you want him, and who are you ? 

Told. I'm a constable. I've a warrant for him. 
(Turns.) The question is, be you the guilty man or 
not? 

ToBE. I may be guilty and I may not be. That's 
entirely beside the question. I'm not the man you 
seek. 

Told. We'll find that out before a justice of the 
peace. (Jerks him.) 

Pauline. Wait! He's Tobias Stoodenwhacker, a 
college grind. He wouldn't harm a flea. He couldn't 
think of a crime, much less commit one. 

Told. Why in the name of thunder don't you say 
so? (Releases Tobe.) Be you dying to get locked up 
so that you can't pronounce your own name ? 

ToBE. There are worse things than confinement. A 
poet between walls and bars often gives birth to im- 
mortal thoughts. It might not come amiss for me to 
suffer incarceration for a short period. 

Pauline. That day may come sooner than you 
think, if you don't look out. (To Told.) But what is 
the charge against Ned Knowles ? 

Told. He kicked a football agin the Turf Saloon 
and busted out a winder, and knocked a glass of beer 
right down Sam Splicer's throat and nearly choked him 
to death. Sam swore out a warrant agin him and put 
it in my hands to serve, and I'm going to serve it, too. 

Pauline. Ned'll pay the damages, I'm sure. Isn't 
there any way to settle it up ? I know he will try. 



14 ON THE WABASH. 

Told. I can't settle no criminal case; it's agin the 
law. If you see him, don't go and tell him what's up. 
Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. 

Pauline. I'll not tell him with both eyes open. 

Told (poking Tobe in the ribs). Hey, wake up! 
(The book falls dozmi. Tobe hastily grabs it.) Do ye 
hear me? I say mum! (Pnts his finger to his lips.) 
MUM'S the word. M-U-M ! 

Tobe. I never drink anything so intoxicating. 

Told (with disgust). You don't? Well, I can't say 
as I blame you much. You don't look as if you could 
tell the difference between mud and hard cider, any- 
ways. (Goes into pavilion.) 

Tobe. The idea! Mud is a mineral product, and 
cider is wholly vegetable ! 

Pauline. Poor Ned ! What's he to do now ? We 
can never let him go to jail, can we? 

Tobe. Let me see, who was it said, "Let no guilty 
man escape?" (Turns ozrer leaves of ''Black Hya- 
cinths" rapidly. Stops at an open page — reads — shakes 
his head and sighs.) No ; it is only a quotation ! (Ned 
Knozvles enters left. He is a vigorous collegian of 
athletic type.) 

Ned. Hello, Tobe! Hello, Pauline! Together as 
usual, I see. 

Tobe. How do you do, Edward ? I trust our prox- 
imity is not annoying to you? 

Ned. Oh, no ! Not at all ! But, say, you've heard 
of my final flunk? It's all over the campus. — I didn't 
pass in a single subject except elocution ! Thank good- 
ness for small favors ! Oratory may be my salvation 
yet, who knows? 



ON THE WABASH. 15 

Pauline. I'm sorry for you, I'm sure, after you 
tried so hard at the end. You devoted too much of 
your time to athletics at first, so you couldn't catch up 
when you set down to bohning. 

Ned. I shouldn't have made the football team! It 
took me away from my studies ; I don't suppose father 
will make any allowance for that. — He was against my 
trying. An athlete is not without honor save in his 
own family. 

Pauline. Without you the team would have lost 
every game. You brought Paul all her victories. She 
won the championship thru you. 

Ned. I thank you, — but winning championships 
doesn't pass me. I wouldn't care about my flunk, if it 
weren't for dad ; he is so sensitive. He's forever tell- 
ing me about how he graduated with honors — cum 
laude — and all that — and here I am, No. 23 in my 
class. It's tough on a fellow, and tougher on his pater. 
I wish I were more like you, Tobe, even if you don't 
know the difference between a tackle and a pass. 

Tobe. I don't, eh? You must remember I was ath- 
letic editor of 'The Orion" for two semesters and 
studied football from my tripod. I became well versed 
in the technology of the game, even if I didn't practice 
the sport. A tackle is a grab ; a pass is a throw. Isn't 
that correct ? 

Ned. I did the athletics; you did the athletes. I 
remember that roast you gave me for fumbling a kick- 
back in the Herdon game. It made me sore ; I could 
have licked you, if I'd 've caught you right after your 
rag came out. Like a wise editor, you ducked into 
your hole. But no more football for mine! It's 



16 ON THE WABASH. 

buckle down to work for dad, if he will let me. Hence- 
forth I must count checks by numbers instead of by 
stacks. 

ToBE. Yes ; you will have to cut out the daylight 
arc for the midnight tungsten. 

Ned. Dad never gambles. — He wants a sure thing 
or nothing. You don't know dad, — he's so stern he 
freezes a bluffer with a single glance of his eagle eye. 
A cold breeze plays on dad's feet the whole night long. 

Pauline, li you won't laugh, I'll shut one eye and 
tell you a story. 

Ned. Shut both if you want to. But it's like turn- 
ing out the gas before bedtime. 

Pauline (giggling). You tell him, Tobe! I can't. 

ToBE. Not I ! I promised to keep mum. 

Pauline. So did I, with both eyes open. 

Ned. What are you driving at? I'm foolish, I ad- 
mit, but I'd like to hear the news. 

Pauline. You're on the way of being nabbed — ^but 
there, I can't tell you any more. 

Ned. "Oh, Beauteous Amaryllis! Speak; for the 
dog Hylas barks in the doorway." I'm on nettles un- 
til I hear the worst. 

Tobe. The worst will not relieve you any. 

Ned. When I know the worst, my imagination will 
stop working. Proceed with your rat killing. 

Pauline (zmth one eye shut). 

Then listen, stranger, to the story 
Of one who hunts to no avail 

For him who's had the awful glory 
Of spilling lager, cool and pale. 



ON THE WABASH. 17 

ToBE (holding his ears). Finish in prose or I'll tell 
him in spite of my pledge. — I'd rather break my word 
than hear you break your meter. 

Pauline. Why, Tobe, I'm surprised ! That's from 
your own imitation of 'The Ancient Mariner". 

Tobe. Is it? I'd forgotten. Well, anyway, I wrote 
that several years ago, and since that time I've changed 
masters. I disown all those earlier children of my 
brain, as being almost, if not quite, spurious. 

Ned. And the later ones will disown you for the 
same reason. But I'm dying for news. There's some- 
thing ill o' the wind that bodes no good for me, I'm 
afeard. Out with it now or forever after hold your 
peace. 

Tobe. Let me speak, tho I say it who should not. 
There's a warrant out for you ; — you better duck. 

Pauline. Duck's the word. 

Ned. Duck? — An I be a drake, I'll not duck. 

Tobe. In the name of the law, I say duck. 

Pauline. Invoking fair Justicia herself, I gently 
murmur — duck. 

Tobe. There is a constable on your trail, a regular 
limb of the law. 

Ned. What does he want of me, innocent me? 

Tobe. Inform him. Miss MacKinny; I never re- 
peat idle gossip. 

Pauline. Neither do I — that is — hardly ever. 

Ned. I beg you to make an exception in my case — 
and continue, Sherlocka Holmesa. 

Pauline. You are charged with breaking a win- 
dow and almost killing one Samuel Splicer as charged 
in the indictment. You ought to recall the occasion. 



18 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned (stammering). I can't remember anything of 
the sort. When did I — Where was I? — What did I? 
I can't remember a thing. My head — my poor head ! 

ToBE. You conducted yourself very unbecomingly 
for a senior. 

Pauline. And how about you, Tobe? Birds of a 
feather, you know. 

Ned. I was celebrating my final flunk. Red fire, 
blue lights, and slow music. But I'm sure I didn't 
scrap. Did I, old man? 

Tobe. I, as an unwilling witness of your bacchana- 
lian oro^y, refuse to compromise myself by a peach- 
ment. Besides, the officer cautioned me not to divulge. 
— His exact words were — were — 

Pauline. Mum ! We must keep mum ! 

Ned. Oh, plague take it! What's the charge? 
Come, out with it! 

Tobe. You mustn't ask me. My lips are sealed. 

Ned. Let me think! I remember kicking a foot- 
ball and hearing a crash of glass. I wonder if I did 
hurt anyone? 

Tobe. Yourself most of all, — as is usually the case 
when one goes to extremes. Myself next, because 
when you injure yourself, you hurt your friends. The 
University, too, because she suffers from the thought- 
less acts of her matriculates ; and lastly, the man 
whose glass you broke. — I am sure you, Miss MacKin- 
ny, as my fellow townsman, coincide with my views ? 

Ned. Are you from Warsaw — Warwawsee — or 
whatever that outlandish town's called where Tobe 
hails from? 



ON THE WABASH. 19 

Pauline (with dignity). You mean Wauseon? 
Yes, I'm proud to say I am. It's a very respectable 
place, too, even if you do think the name is outland- 
ish. It's picturesquely situated on a high bank of the 
old Wabash. It has a lovely vista towards the west. 

Ned. It may look better than it sounds, after all. 

Pauline, Wauseon's booming now; father put in 
a power plant that revolutionized the place. 

ToBE. I liked it better before he flooded our farm 
by backing up his dam water on to it. 

Ned {in mock horror). That doesn't sound respect- 
able, Tobe ! 

Pauline. He paid damages for all overflowage, so 
no one has a right to complain. 

Tobe. I know you're not to blame, Pauline, for our 
dam troubles. 

Ned. Profanity, vulgar profanity, from you, the 
leader of our class! (Holds his head between his 
hands.) How could you do it! And to think I deign- 
ed to honor you with my friendship, — the friendship 
of a pure and unsuspecting heart. 

Tobe. You wouldn't think it so funny if you stood 
in my shoes, and had them filled to the tops with wa- 
ter on the very spot you were born ! (He goes out), 

Ned. He may thank his stars he doesn't stand in 
mine. 

Pauline. Tobe is really a fine fellow in spite of 
his eccentricities. But what are you going to do to get 
out of your scrape? 

Ned (contritely). Can't you suggest something? 
Anything is better than going to jail. That would 
break father's heart. 



20 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline. How about yours ? 

Ned. I see where I missed it, but I had a bully 
time. I don't regret the fun nor the money, either. I 
do feel bad over wasted opportunities, but what good 
does that do? 

Pauline. You are a disappointment to your friends ; 
brilliant, but so careless. 

Ned. I know I've been wild, but I never did any- 
thing low. My teachers sat down so hard on me at 
the start, I couldn't get up again. Then, there's this 
last scrape, whatever it is. 

Pauline. Perhaps it's not so serious after all. 

Ned. I kicked a ball into the air, — it fell to earth 
1 know not where. In golf they would call it a foozle. 
Now if I were more like Tobe Stoodenwhacker, — that 
is, a little more like him, — not entirely, of course, — I'd 
be better off. 

Pauline. You don't take things seriously enough. 
College is a place for training one for the big things 
hereafter. 

Ned. I realize that, now that it's too late. 

Pauline {didactically) . You mustn't think it's too 
late. You should make up your mind that you are on 
the brink of a new world, and plunge into it to do or 
to die. Convince your folks there is good stuff in you 
after all! 

Ned. You give me new courage. I'll make a des- 
perate effort to retrieve myself, — but where am I to 
begin? What am I to do first? 

Pauline. You shouldn't start out by leaning on 
some one else for support. The world's heroes were 
self-dependent, you know. 



ON THE WABASH. 21 

Ned. World's heroes ! You don't think I ? — You're 
joking ! 

Pauline (nobly). And why not you? You have 
been a hero here. True, it was outside of the Univer- 
sity halls, — but a hero nevertheless. All Paul has hung 
breathless on your exploits for the last four years. You 
are better prepared for the real battles of life than 
those who merely studied books. — But I have said too 
much. 

Ned. You have talked like a mother! Don't think 
I'm ungrateful. I'll pull myself together; — I know I 
can. (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker, Si Cart^ Gzvennie Cart, 
and Tobias Stoodenzvhacker enter from pavilion.) 

Samantha {talking in a high pitch). We're mighty 
glad we found you, Tobe. Looking all over this ten- 
acre field aint no joke. You're a regular needle in a 
haystack, — that's what you are ! Where were you hid- 
ing yourself, anyhow? 

Tobe {irritably). Why, mother! I've not been a 
hundred yards away from this pavilion the last half- 
hour. You could have found me easily, if you had 
looked. 

Samantha. I looked as far as I could, but I'm near- 
sighted. Why, Pauline, how do you do ! Sakes alive ! 
I hardly knowed you in them fixings! Just like them 
outlandish Flying Rollers ! Have you joined that sect 
lately? 

Pauline {pleasantly). We seniors are very proud 
of our gowns and miortar-boards. Don't you think 
them becoming? They are not religious at all; they 
are collegiate. 



22 ON THE WABASH. 

Samantha. Tobe is a fright in his'n. A straw 
bindy would suit his style of beauty better, I'm think- 
ing; especially around harvest time. 

Tobe. It's our college custom, mother — we must 
follow it, even if it shocks the Philistines. 

Samantha. What shocked the Philistines most was 
a rap — not a cap — on the head, eh. Si ? 

Si. That's as true as scripture. 

Ned {to Tobe). Introduce me to your friends. 

Tobe. Mother, this is my friend, Edward Knowles. 
Miss Cart, Mr. Knowles; and this is her father, Silas 
Cart. 

Si. Just plain Si. That's good enough for me. 
There are no frills on old Si Cart. 

Samantha. I'm glad to know you, Edward. Tobe 
has wrote volumes about you. 

Ned. I'm glad to meet you all, I assure you. I hope 
you are going to attend the ball to-night. It's to be a 
real swell affair. 

Si. We are going to take in all the sights. We've 
just been inspecting that side-show. I suppose that's 
where you're going to keep the fat lady? 

Ned. And the slim one, too, providing she's will- 
ing. Do you dance. Miss Cart? 

Gwennie (timidly). No; I skate. I'm afraid to 
try to waltz. I should love to, tho. I can do the Vir- 
ginia reel and the quadrilles. 

Samantha. I didn't know as they allowed danc- 
ing here, it being a religious institute. 

Ned. It was hard for us to gain consent. We had 
to agree to strike out all the moonlight waltzes, to get 
any sort of a privilege. 



ON THE WABASH. 23 

Pauline. And spoiled it all! (Bell rings). There's 
the chapel bell ; — I must be going. It's the last time, 
thank goodness ! Won't you come, too, Mrs. Stooden- 
whacker ? 

Samantha. Do they take up a collection? 

Pauline. Oh, no! 

Samantha. Come on, Si ; I guess it's safe. 
(Pauline, Si and Mrs. Stoodenmhacker go out.) 

Ned. Let me borrow your goggles and togs; they 
may prove handy in case of a pinch. 

ToBE. I can't do without them long. My eyes are 
so weak I don't recognize my friends. 

Ned. And mine are so strong, my friends won't 
recognize me. A change ought to do us both good. 
(They exchange caps. Ned puts the goggles in his 
pocket and lays the gozvn on seat. Tobe follows the 
others out.) 

Gwennie (tarries coquettishly, then starts to go.) 
Hem! 

Ned (as she hurries azvay). Miss Cart! (She 
stops.) Perhaps I can teach you a few steps. If you 
skate, it will not be hard for you to learn. 

Gwennie. Oh, I wish you would teach me! 

Ned. Very well, I'll put you down for the first 
waltz. We can go thru it all right. Let me show you ! 
(Puts his arm around her. She ivithdran's.) But 
that is the way. (Tries it again. She holds hack. 
Waltzing.) Now; one, two, three; one, two, three; 
(She steps on his toes.) Ouch! 

Gwennie (remorsefully). Did I hurt you? I'm 
sorry. 



24 ON THE WABASH. 

Samantha (outside). Gwennie! Gwennie! 

GwENNiE (tries to release herself). Oh, Sir, I must 
go! 

Ned (tries to steal a kiss). Don't be in a hurry! 

Gwennie (indignantly). Sir! Who do you think 
I am? 

Ned (contritely). I beg your pardon. (She leaves, 
her eyes flashing. Ned takes a couple of steps and 
dances wildly. He ends by jumping right into Con- 
stable Told, zvho grabs at him; Ned escapes into the 
pavilion.) 

Told (in fidl bay). Hold on! Be you Edward 
Knowles, student? (Follozvs him into pavilion. Ned 
enters from rear. He dons Tobe's goggles, mortar- 
board and gozvn. Told returns and looks blankly at 
Ned.) Did you see him? Where did he go? He's a 
sHppery cuss ! 

Ned (mimicking Tobe's manner). Of whom are 
you enquiring, if I may request? (Takes up ''Black 
Hyacinths" and starts to pore over it.) None of my 
friends, I hope? 

Told. I am looking for a man known as (consults 
his warrant) Edward Knowles, student. Have you 
seen him around here? I nigh had my grip on him, 
but he gave me the slip. He's a bad 'un, he is. 

Ned. Indeed? I've heard him very highly spoken 
of. There must be some mistake. He's very well 
liked by his friends. 

Told (fiercely). They don't know him as well as I 
do. Ever since he came to town, he's been up to some 
deviltry. He's stirred up more trouble than any two 
students afore his time. 



ON THE WABASH. 25 

Ned. It's too bad, as I'm inclined to think well of 
him at times. 

Told. He's busted a solid plate glass window worth 
a hundred dollars and committed an assault on a re- 
spectable citizen, that's worth 'leven dollars more. 
It'll take just $111.00 to settle his case or my name is 
not Told. 

Ned. I thought he was accused of a crime. A fel- 
ony — of some kind — a — a — regular murder. 

Told. It's not exactly that bad, but pretty nigh. 
He might have caused Sam Splicer to choke to death. 
It's a wonder he didn't. But where is he gone? 

Ned. If I could deliver him into your hands with- 
out his knowing all about it, I should do so gladly. He 
doesn't always act right towards me. Sometimes he 
calls out my worser nature. 

Told. Oh, he's an ornery cuss! But I'm prepared 
for him. {Slapping his hip-pocket.) I've got some- 
thing here that'll fix him. 

Ned. You wouldn't shoot, would you? 

Told {takes out a mean-looking revolver and bran- 
dishes it icith bravado.) I'd shoot him. quicker'n scat, 
if he made one move to resist me. I'm an officer of 
the law. {As he waves the revolver around, Ned holds 
lip his hands and crouches behind the pavilion sup- 
ports.) 

Ned {peering at him). Hey, there! You make me 
nervous waving your pistol around like that! It 
might go off ! Is it loaded ? Put it down ! 

Told {points at goalpost). Do you see that post? 
Watch me fill it full of lead. {Fires twice.) 



26 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned (sticking his Ungers in his ears). What a can- 
non! {Both go and look at post.) You hit it both 
times. Let me see that gun ! It's quite a fine piece of 
fireworks. 

Told (handing it over). That was one of Morgan's 
guns. It's seen service in its day. See those thirteen 
notches on the handle; they weren't put there for 
nothing. 

Ned (handling it gingerly). No, I suppose not. 
(He furtively abstracts the shells and hands it hack.) 
Here, put it in your pocket like a good little man ; you 
may need it later on. 

Told (replacing it with a swagger). If you see 
him, hold him and holler for help. I'll nab him so quick 
it'll make your head swim. I've taken bigger men 
than him in my day. (He goes out. Ned zMstles and 
removes his goggles, cap and gozvn, gets a sazu-buck 
and board and goes to zvork.) 

ToBE (enters, poring over a book held close to his 
eyes, runs against the sazv-biick and knocks it over, up- 
setting Ned. ) Excuse me ! I didn't see you. 

Ned. Of all the dunces ! Here, do you see this 
buck-saw? (Puts it in his hands.) Now, get busy! 

ToBE . I can't without my glasses. (Drops saw.) I 
couldn't see to sing, — I mixed the bass with the alto. 

Ned. Take your old goggles, and get back your 
voice! You made me cut my fingers. (Staunches the 
blood with his handkerchief.) 

ToBE. Did I ? I am sorry, old chap. Let me read 
you some genuine literature from this wonderful book. 
(Puts on goggles.) 



ON THE WABASH. 27 

"Every man is a fool at least ten minutes a day ; 
Wisdom consists in not breaking the record !" 

Isn't that wonderful? So abstruse! And this one: 
"Heaven is largely a matter of digestion." 

Ned. The first is true to life and the second true 
to death. But here ! Throw away that trash and lend 
me a hand. The carpenters are on a strike and we'll 
never get this thing done (pointing to the pavilion), un- 
less we make wax. 

ToBE (vacantly). But I'm not on the committee. 
Anyhow, I think it is beneath a scholar to do manual 
labor. (He turns away, reading book.) 

Ned (commandingly) . I appoint you as a commit- 
tee of one to hold this board, while I saw it in two. 
(He hands Tobe one end of a board, puts it in the saw- 
buck and starts to saw. Tobe holds book in one hand 
and the board in the other.) What are you doing with 
that book ? Drop it ! 

Tobe (drops both book and board). Ouch! (Ned 
gathers up boards and takes them into the pavilion. 
Tobe picks up his book.) 

"Life has its ptomains, but love is a panacea." 
"Love is a panacea !" How true that is ! 

Pauline (runs into Tobe and snatches book from 
his hand). Wake up, old bookworm! (Looks at the 
book, takes it gingerly between her fingers, goes behind 
the pavilion and drops it. ) For shame ! I didn't think 
that of you, Tobias Stoodenwhacker — such trash ! You 
ought to blush, if you could. 

Tobe (helplessly). It isn't trash! It's the literature 
of the future. 



28 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline. Then let it wait for its public. (Pause.) 
Where is Ned? Did that constable get him? We're 
all worked up over his case. He's such a good-hearted 
fellow. It's too bad the way his troubles are piling up 
on him all at once. Just at commencement time, too. 

ToBE. That's when troubles generally do pile up. 
He who dallies with wine, woman and song will not 
thrive in college halls for long. 

Pauline (appealingly). How did it come that such 
a sober and sedate student as you ever took up with 
such a harum-scarum fellow as he? 

Tobe. It's all based on the affinity of opposites. Ned 
is a true friend in spite of his failings; as for me, I 
trust I am not entirely devoid of the sense of humor, 
even tho my sobriety may seem to you somewhat 
excessive. 

Pauline. What beautiful language! I wonder what 
you are going to do with that vocabulary out in the 
wide world. Are you going on to establish more in- 
congruous friendships? 

Tobe. I am going back to Wauseon for a rest. My 
brain is tired out. Then I — 

Pauline (pats his head). Poor brains! 
Tobe (tickled). Do that again! It helps. Then I — 
Pauline. Yes? Go on; don't let me break the 
connection. 

Ned (enters from pavilion). Tobe, are you on the 
level ? 

Tobe (looks around bewildered) . Of course, I am! 
Ned. Well, get off! (Takes level from under his 
feet and re-enters pavilion.) 



ON THE WABASH. 29 

ToBE, He was speaking literally, not metaphoric- 
ally? 

Ned (enters). Pauline, are you on the square? 
Pauline. What's the joke? 

Ned. The boss carpenter wants it. (He takes the 
tool.) If you see any loose mechanics around, send 
them in, we must have help or there will be no howl 
in Rome to-night. (He pushes Tobe out. Hank Fox 
and Mrs. Stoodenwhacker enter from right.) 

Pauline (to Hank). Are you a carpenter? 

Hank. Not much of one, but I am a fair sort of 
wood-butcher. 

Pauline. That's what he means. (Shoves him in- 
to the pavilion. In a hollow tone.) Rome must howl 
to-night ! 

Samantha. Why, Pauline! How you do talk! 
You don't seem like the same girl any more. Educa- 
tion has turned your head as bad as Tobe's, only he 
always was a little offish. (She sits on the tree-bench 
and Pauline stands by the park-seat.) But perhaps it's 
right for you both to be in the same boat, as you can 
pull it better thru life together. 

Pauline. Together? Mrs. Stoodenwhacker! I 
trust you are not forming plans for me, — not in that 
direction at least. 

Samantha (slyly). There might be a worse point 
in the compass for you. You both come from the same 
town, and you've known each other since you wore 
pinafores. It would be an ideal match. Your folks 
are well-off — you might say rich — Tobe's are as poor 
as Job's turkey. He needs a good wife, who'll take 
care of him while he is making his name in the world. 



30 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline. His name! You make me laugh. Be- 
sides, marriage has no attraction for me. I am think- 
ing of higher things. 

Samantha (mockingly). Higher balloons! I've 
heard that kind of talk before. "It's art that calls", 
— and then you all wind up as old maids. No; you 
better come down from the clouds and think of babies 
instead of moonshine. 

Pauline (turning her back). Mrs. Stoodenwhack- 
er! — You've gone far enough! The idea! (Mrs. 
Stoodenwhacker rises and goes over to her in a moth- 
erly way.) 

Samantha. There, there, Pauline! You know I 
didn't mean nothing. Let me tell you a little story 
about myself, will you? When I was a girl — a bit 
younger than you, — I had big notions about what I 
was going to be in the world. I looked on the coun- 
try boys who came a-courting as way beneath such a 
lady as me. I dreamt of marble halls and such like 
things, the same as you do ; until I met Hiram Stood- 
enwhacker. While he didn't just exactly poke fun at 
me, he made short work of my foolishness. He taught 
me my purpose in life was to make a good man happy. 
After he was taken away, I lived for my child. (Ten- 
derly.) Tobe is like his father in a good many ways; 
— head-strong, and stubborn, — but what he starts out 
to do, he'll do. He'll make his mark some day and 
we'll all be proud of him. But, there, I shouldn't have 
said so much. I'm only a doting old woman who 
thinks the world of her only son and who would like 
to see him settled in life with a good companion. 

Pauline. It seems so ridiculous ! Tobe is the very 
last fellow I should think of marrying. He's so intro- 
spective, so undemonstrative, so analytical. I like him 



ON THE WABASH. 31 

as a lover of books ; I couldn't think of him as a lover 
of myself. 

Samantha (breezily). You have not seen him at 
his best. Wait until your school polish wears off a 
bit. Tobe's sun will mount higher in the sky than you 
think. 

Pauline (strongly). I've nothing else to do all 
summer, but wait. In the fall I'm going to work, if 
it's nothing but run a typewriter in some lawyer's 
office. There are not many openings for a woman 
with an education. One thing I can always do — give 
music lessons. 

Samantha (stubbornly). It would be a shame to 
spoil your life that way, especially when your folks are 
able to provide everything for you. Teaching music is 
very well for those who have to, or for those who 
can't find husbands, — it won't do for you. You mustn't 
think of mussing around a lot of dirty brats at an old 
piano. 

Pauline (quickly). All brats aren't dirty, — besides, 
T like children! (Catches herself.) But excuse me; 
you have talked real motherly to me; but I would 
never choose Tobe, never! 

Samantha (shrewdly). Perhaps he'll choose you! 
He doesn't need to be in a hurry, for you're not likely 
to run across a better choice in Wauseon. 

Pauline. It's a good thing for him to have such a 
devoted mother. He's sure to find a good wife with 
you looking after him. 

Samantha. I just do the best I can. But, there, 
we won't say no more ; it sort of upsets me. — My heart 
is so wrapped up in that boy. (She wipes her eyes.) 
He's all I've got left in this world. 



32 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline {throwing her arms around her). There, 
there ! Forgive me, I didn't mean anything. 

Samantha. I know you didn't, only {buries her 
face in her handkerchief) it riles me to have any one 
say anything against my Tobe. 

Paulin'B {opening her heart). If you'll promise not 
to say anything to him, I'll tell you. — I've never seen 
but one man who could carry a candle to Tobe. There, 
does that suit you? 

Samantha. It does me, but it wouldn't Tobe. Per- 
haps the other man's took tho? 

Pauline. No! I don't think so. 

Samantha. Who is it? Not that measly Ned 
Knowles? {Pauline hangs her head.) Well, I swan! 

Hank Fox {comes in from pavilion). Go right in, 
ladies and gentlemen, and see the big show ! Admis- 
sion free to all ! Come one, come all ; come big, come 
small ! The circus has begun ! 

Samantha {looking up). Circus? Why, Hank 
Fox, there's no circus in town to-day! I do beHeve 
you've been drinking again. 

Hank {tipsily). Only punch, — college punch ; harm- 
less as air. Help yourself, it's free to all! This is a 
great place. Good fellows. Make you work and drink, 
— drink and work. "Have one on me," that's what 
Tobe says. — ''Don't mind if I do." Tobe is a good 
fellow. They're all good fellows. {Sings.) 
"A student's life, so bold and free!" 

Samantha {sharply). Yon don't mean to say that 
my son asked you to partake of intoxicating liquor, 
do you? Come on, Pauline, we'll go right in and see 
about that. {Pauline and Mrs. Stoodenwhacker go 
out.) 



ON THE WABASH. 33 

Hank (sings). 

When I was young and didn't have a penny, 

Of girls I had a plenty ; 
But now I'm old and wealth for twenty 

Of girls I haven't any. 

(Si Cart enters with Gwennie. A pair of roller skates 
dangles from her arm.) Well, Si! Put her there! 
(Puts out his hand.) You darned Johnnie Reb ! Do 
you know, I kind o' like you, if you are an old Copper- 
head. Hello, Gwen ! Putting on your skates ? Funny 
how every one puts on skates as soon as he strikes a 
college town. 

Gwennie (resentfully). I was asked to try the 
floor to see if it was smooth. (She goes in pavilion.) 

Hank. Everything in there is smooth, — floor, punch 
and fellows. 

Si (drily). A little too smooth for you, I guess. 

Hank (putting his hands on Si's shoulders). Look 
here, Si ; let me give you a pointer. When you want 
to get out of the post-oflice, I can help you make post- 
masters, instead of being one ; you understand ? 

Si. I savey. You mean Congressman, don't you ? 

Hank. You're on. Sam Wimbles is going to get 
the knife next time ; the boys are laying for him. He 
hasn't treated us right. We're going to let him down 
hard. Mark my words, the next man who goes to 
Washington from the 14th district will be a Democrat. 
It might as well be you as some one else. Fact is, it's 
got to be you, 'cause you're a friend of mine. You 
gave me a job when no one else would. Think I'll for- 
get that ? You don't know me ! 



34 ON THE WABASH. 

Si. I ought to, by this time. As for me being Con- 
gressman, why I can't even make a speech, much less 
make a law. 

Hank (emphatically). You don't have to. Have 
'em wrote out for you, the same as Senator — what's- 
his-name? Course, me being a Republican, I daren't 
say anything, but you know me ! — I'm a politician from 
way-back, I am. All I ask is for you to let me name 
some of my friends for a plum or two. Now, what's 
your answer? Do you accept? It's as good as set- 
tled, if you say the word. 

Si (dubiously) . I'll think it over. If you are of the 
same mind after you get back, I'll talk to you. But 
not now, — we didn't come down here to talk politics, 
anyways. 

Hank (slapping him on the back). You're true 
blue, you are, and no mistake. I ought to hate you 
like hell, but I can't do it; I can't do it. (He sits and 
holds his head. Ned and Gwcnnie enter from pavil- 
ion.) 

GwENNiE. Oh, that floor is just lovely — it's heav- 
enly! 

Ned. I'm glad you like it ! You waltzed beautifully. 

GwENNiE. Did I? So did you! I don't see how 
you could dance with me when I had skates on. 

Ned. It was just like floating in a cloud, you were 
so light. 

GwENNiE. And you were so masterful ! Sometimes 
I wish I were a man with a man's strength. 

Ned. a man seems stronger than he really is. Wo- 
man's creative instinct is stronger than man's. (Sa- 
mantha, Tobe and Pauline enter.) 



ON THE WABASH. 35 

GwENNiE. You admire women more than men? 

Ned. Yes, — I should say I do. 

Samantha {to Pauline). He's got some sense after 
all. (Aloud.) I'm ashamed of you getting Hank Fox 
intoxicated. You ought to have watched him closer. 
When there's plenty of free drinks, he's sure to get 
foundered. 

Hank. Foundered? Me? You don't know my ca- 
pacity. 

Samantha. You're a disgrace to Wauseon. I know 
that! 

Hank (whiningly). I'm a disgrace to Wauseon? 
You don't mean it? (He collapses.) Disgrace to 
Wauseon ! To think she could say such a thing. 

Pauline. I'm glad you boys are going to get 
thru in time. (Sounds of poimding in the pavilion.) 
The class of '91 never made a failure yet, and it won't 
now. 

Tobe. Thanks to Ned Knowles! He's the inspira- 
tion, the pride of his class — our tried and true leader ! 

Hank (waking up). Yes, sir, he's our trued and 
tried leader; but I — I'm a disgrace to Wauseon! 

Ned. Poor fellow ! He's hit hard. 

Tobe. He ought not to gauge his capacity with too 
idealistic an eye. One of the laws of nature is, a quart 
measure holds just two pints and no more. 

Ned. That is the trouble with wiser men than he. — 
They can't hold all they can have. (Constable Told 
sneaks in under cover of the oak. He shakes Hank 
Fox J zuakes him up and whispers to him.) 

Hank. Don't know him. Don't vote in my pre- 
cinct. 



36 ON THE WABASH. 

Told (louder). Is that him in the cap? 

Hank. Yes, that's him, Cap. 

Told ( advances to Ned. Ned spies him and starts to 
run). Halt! In the name of the law! {Draws his 
pistol; Ned runs into pavilion. Told snaps revolver. 
It fails to explode. He stops.) Someone has been 
monkeying with this gun. It never missed fire afore. 
(Advances towards Tobe and thrusts gun in his face.) 
Did you take out those cartridges ? 

ToBE. I ? I never saw that pistol. Put it down, — it 
might go off. 

Samantha. Hey, put that pistol back in your pock- 
et. You might blow out his brains. 

Chorus. Yes, put it up. Put it away ! 

Told. You're all under arrest for resisting an offi- 
cer. Come along with me. (He seises Mrs. Stooden- 
zvhacker. She screams.) 

Ned (appears at the door of pavilion zvith a gang of 
students). Here, boys, rush him! (They rush Told 
out, struggling and shouting. Ned and the boys re- 
appear, laughing.) That'll end him for a while. We 
ducked him into the mill race. Now, boys, — one, two. 
three : 

Rah, rah, rah ! 
For old Paul! 

'91, '91, 
Rah, rah, rah ! 

(The boys march back into pavilion.) 

GwENNiE. Aren't they glorious? I think college 
boys sing just grand. 

Pauline (haughtily). That's our class yell! It's 
not a song. 



ON THE WABASH. 37 

Si. It sounds like election, hey Hank? (Shakes 
him.) 

Hank. 'Lection? Come 'round to headquarters, 
boys, and get your money. 

Si. Funny about Hank. Thought he was poison 
proof. What did you give him, anyhow? Must have 
been a new brand of liquor. He's used to all the old 
ones. 

ToBE, He helped himlself to the main ingredients of 
a cocktail before they were mixed. 

Si. He mixed his drinks ! He ought to have known 
better than that ! This is no place for him. Let's lay 
him on the shelf. (Si and Ned take Hank into pavil- 
ion and Ned re-enters. A messenger boy comes in with 
a telegram for Ned. He signs the book and pays the 
boy, who leaves. He reads the message, and lets his 
head drop.) 

ToBE. What's the matter, old man? Bad news? 

Ned. Dad has cut me off! 

ToBE. Cut you off ! Why is that ? What's his rea- 
son? 

Ned. Read it. — Here. (Hands Tobe telegram.) 

ToBE (reads). "Heard you wouldn't graduate. Not 
one cent more until you reform your ways. You 
needn't return home until I send for you. 

Melancthon Knowles, 
Pres. 3rd Natl. Bank." 

Ned. What am I to do now? Where can I go? I 
didn't think it would come to this. — 

Pauline (sympathetically) . I'd go back and ex- 
plain it all to him. He'll forgive you when you tell 
him how it is. You're not entirely to blame. 



58 ON THE WABASH. 

TO'BE (putting arm around Ned). We haven^t very 
much, but you can come down to Wauseon and stay 
at our house until he changes his mind. 

GwENNiiE. Yes; do come! We have the loveliest 
rink, and I can teach you to skate. It'll help you for- 
get your troubles. 

Ned (shakes his head sadly), I hardly know what 
to do. I've got to get out of town or that constable 
will arrest me. And I can't go home. I don't know 
which way to turn. 

Samantha. Tobe, you talk to him! Come on, 
girls. Remember, I'll never forgive you, if you don't 
accept our invitation. He'll send for you soon. Fath- 
ers are pretty much alike. 

GwENNiE. Do speak for us, Tobe; he'll listen to 
you. (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker leaves ivith Pauline and 
Gwennie.) 

Tobe (ivith great friendliness). Here, old man, 
take my goggles, pack up and go on to Wauseon to- 
night. You can room with me. Si Cart will give you 
a Job in the post-office. You can keep out of scrapes 
and marry one of our girls — they're not so bad, you 
see that for yourself. When you have shown your 
governor that you have the right stuff in you — and I 
know you have, if you would only let it come out — 
he will welcome you back with open arms. 

NiEtD (taking Tobe^s hand and looking him squarely 
in the eye). I'll try it, old man. All but the marry- 
ing part. I'm not fit for that. But I'd like to show 
father I'm not so bad as he thinks. 

Tobe. The girls at Wauseon will never let a chap 
like you get away without a halter around his neck, 
or I'm badly mistaken. 



ON THE WABASH. 39 

Ned. It looks like that kind or the other. I don't 
know as it makes much difference. {He hangs his 
head moodily.) 

ToBE. Some one has said : — In case of doubt, mar- 
ry the first live one you meet! 

Ned {rousing up). I don't know why it is that 
whenever a fellow makes a failure of everything else, 
his friends always recommend him to get married. 
If he is no good for one, why should he be for two? 

ToBE. A horse can pull more when hitched double 
than single. 

Ned. But I don't want to pull. I want to run, gal- 
lop, race, jump. 

Tobe. Haven't you had enough of that? You've 
stumbled at every hurdle. You'll have to cut out the 
jumps and take to a trot. 

Ned {earnestly). Look here, Tobe! You've got 
me in a corner, don't bump me. — I hate your old jay 
town — with its one drug store, one newspaper, and 
one railroad train a day. But I'll go. — I'll try a small- 
er field and make myself worthy of a larger one. 

To^K {exuberantly). Now you're talking ! Stick to 
it ! Bully for you ! 

Ned. But no flowers, please! No throwing a doz- 
en village beauties at my head in a bunch or one at a 
time. I know I could find one I'd like — one after the 
style of your Miss Cart; she's not so bad. When I 
make good, it will be time to think of settling down. 
Under these terms I capitulate. It's only a truce, — 
not a surrender. The big battle will come later on. 

Tobe. Shake on it, old man! I'll carry the good 
news to Aix. {He goes out.) 



40 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned (walks back and forth moodily. Gwennie slips 
in.) You back? 

Gwennie {shyly). Yes; — I'm so glad you've decid- 
ed to return with us. I thought I would tell you. 

Ned. I suspect Tobe sent you. Well, his interces- 
sion prevailed. It was Wauseon or the river. 

Gwennie. I know just how you feel. I've felt that 
way myself. 

Ned. You ? Nonsense ! You've never been pluck- 
ed by your teachers and discarded by your folks. 
You've never had a blood-thirsty old constable on 
your trail to nab you like a comhion felon ! 

Gwennie. It was not just like that, but it was al- 
most as bad. 

Ned. Come, tell me all about it ! Listening to your 
troubles may help me forget mine. 

Gwennie. You'll promise not to laugh? 

Ned. It would take more than that to make me 
laugh. 

Gwennie {sits beside the oak. He stands beside 
her.) Then I'll tell you. Mother was anxious that I 
should have a musical career. She spent hours every 
day giving me lessons on the harp. She found my 
progress so remarkable, that at last I got the bee. You 
understand? {Ned nods.) Then she was stricken, 
— she lingered over a year. Father did everything 
he could for her. He sent to New York for special- 
ists, — they cost a pile of money. It was no use ; she 
died and I was left alone with him. I had to give up 
my music. I haven't had one lesson since she was 
taken away. 

Ned. I begin to understand what you meant. 



ON THE WABASH. 41 

GwENNiE (zmth simple emotion). After you have a 
vision of yourself — famous, thrilling great throngs of 
cultured people with your gift of song, — then to come 
back to the narrow world of a country town ; — it's ter- 
rible! I feel just like you said a moment ago. I 
know it is awful to say so, — but it is true. 

Ned (gently). I meant it more in jest than other- 
wise, but it was a sorry jest. You've helped me to 
see my way as no one else ever did. Perhaps I can 
help you pick up some of the broken threads of your 
life. There's something for mle to do in Wauseon 
after all. 

GwENNiE. Do you play and sing? 

Ned. Of course! We can live art if we can't cre- 
ate it. 

Gwennie. Live art? I don't think I understand. 

Ned. I shall teach you ; it won't be the blind lead- 
ing the blind, either. For, while I should have been 
studying text books, I was really conning the masters. 
From them I learned something of the harmonies of 
the spheres. We shall catch some of their divine 
strains. 

Gwennie. How beautiful it sounds ! I never had 
anyone talk to me like that — except my mother. — It 
makes me feel like crying. 

Ned. Why? 

Gwennie. For joy, for sheer delight! My toes 
feel like dancing, my fingers itch for my harp, my voice 
throbs with song, and my heart aches — 

Ned. Yes ? 

Gwennie. For creation, for expression ! 

Ned. That's odd ! 



42 ON THE WABASH. 

GwENNiE (gaily). Let us devote our lives to sacred 
things ! 

Ned. Yes, let's! I feel inspired, just like, — just 
like,— 

GwENNiE (cunningly) . Not just like Hank Fox? 

Ned (strongly). No! — just like the better self of 
Edward Knowles. And so, good-bye ! I'll see you 
to-morrow in Wauseon ! (He dons Tobe's goggles, 
gozi'u and mortar-board and goes out.) 



ACT II. 

The post-office at Wauseon, showing the inside and 
the corridor — a partition zvith door dividing them. The 
front door of the post-office is on the upper right-hand 
side. Windows look out onto the street. Hand can- 
celing outfit, boxes of letters, mail pouches, tables, 
stove, etc. 

A mail has just arrived, and Si Cart, Freddie Mills 
and Ned Knozules are busy assorting it. The G. D. 
windozvs are closed, and the crozud in the corridor 
gradually increases. 

Si {at mail chute, receiving a pouch from Hank 
Fox). Pretty heavy mail this morning, Hank. Twice 
as big as last week's. 

Hank. Those durned mail order houses are sending 
out their fall invitations. They weigh a pound a piece, 
dod gast 'em ! Why don't people buy to home ? It 
would save me breaking my back and keep the money 
in town, besides. Most folks think to be in the swim, 
they must order their goods from the city. 

Si. Take it easy. Hank. What's the post-office for, 
if it isn't for use. We've got to do some work for our 
pay. 

Hank (misses a box zvith a huge catalog. It falls 
on the floor and he kicks it out chute). I'll fix one on 
'em. 



44 ON THE WABASH. 

Si (irately). What in tarnal nation are you doing? 
Don't you know that is governn^ent mail? Don't you 
monkey with Uncle Sam ; he'll bite you some day. Run 
and fetch it back. 

Hank. I'm more scared of my bull-pup biting me 
again, dod gast 'im. 

Si. How's your leg getting along? All right? (To 
Freddie Mills, who has been canceling letters rapidly 
and noisily.) Hey, Freddie, run out and get that cata- 
log! It might be for one of my constituents. (Fred- 
die fetches it in and hands it to Si, zvho puzzles out the 
address.) James Maul, Rural Route No. 2, Wauseon, 
Indiana. Maul? He's a Prohibitionist! Put it any 
place! (Hands it to Hank, who throzvs it into the 
stove.) He's going to order some more hard liquor, I'll 
bet. 

Hank. That's what it's come to since Spligo Coun- 
ty went dry! We've got to buy our ague drops from 
those highway robbers, and they're mighty poor drops, 
too. The last bottle I got, tasted like kerosene oil. I 
tried it to remove the grease from my old plug hat, and 
it took all the hair clean off! 

Si (good humoredly) . It's a good thing you didn't 
use it for a hair-restorer ! I almost got the snakes once 
on the durned stuff. 

Hank. I draw the line when I have to swallow a 
pint of bitters to get one drink of liquor. I can't en- 
joy my tobacco after a mouthful of that benzine. 

Ned (holding up an envelop). Here's a letter to 
Mrs. Samantha Stoodenwhacker ! It ought to interest 
somebody around here! 



ON THE WABASH. 45 

Si (rising from the table and looking curiously at 
Ned). I wonder who it's from? Where's it post- 
marked ? 

Ned. Indianapolis. The address looks like a man's 
hand-writing. Perhaps she's — but no, I musn't say 
what I think. 

Si (grimly). Let me have it! I've got a power of 
attorney to open all the letters Samantha Stooden- 
whacker gets in a man's hand-write. (He takes enve- 
lop, holds it up to the light, rolls a pencil under the flap 
and extracts a paper.) Bah! It's only a bill for a hat 
— $3.79! (Throws it in the stove.) 

Hank. That was a good one on you, Si! You 
thought it was a love letter! (Leans over pouch and 
laughs.) That would have got your goat or I'm no 
kid. 

Si. No one better write her a love letter, — not as 
long as I'm post-master. There are some perquisites 
belonging and appertaining to this office which I refuse 
to relinquish. (He sits and looks over paper. Pauline 
MacKinny, Sal Slope and other village girls gather 
about the G. D. window.) 

Pauline (peeks thru Tmndozu). The m'ail's not 
assorted yet. They are getting slower every day. I 
just hate to have to wait so long. (Raps on imndow.) 
I just know he's in there. "Busy!" He's always 
busy. This is the third time I have been after my 
mail this morning, and I haven't had any attention. 
I'm expecting a very important letter. (Girls laugh.) 
You needn't laugh. It isn't so funny. (Ned opens 
delivery zvindozv. Hal Whopp, Tames Maul and Bill 
Popp enter corridor. To Ned.) Good morning! Is 
there anything for me? 



46 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned (looks over mail). Only a circular. {Hands 
it to her.) 

Pauline. No letters at all? I'm so disappointed. 
I — I haven't told yon about our club, have I ? We 
are getting up a debate. You are to be on my side. 
The subject is one you will like. It is Woman Suf- 
frage. 

Maul. It's a wonder she wouldn't let somebody 
else get to that window. Does she think this post-office 
is a ladies' parlor? 

Popp. Sure she does !. She's here every hour and 
between hours, too. She's female running to mail. 

Maul. She'd better save her breath. The train's 
left. 

Pauline (aloud). I'll tell you the rest after while. 
Good-bye. (She goes out.) 

Sal Slope (simply). Ith there anything for me? 
Any letterth? 

Ned (briskly). What is your name? Perhaps I 
could tell better if I knew for whom to look. 

Sal Slope. Thally Thlope. 

Ned. How do you spell it : — with a T or with an S ? 

Sal Slope. With an Eth. Eth-1-o-p-e — Thlope. 

Ned. No. — Yes, wait ! ( Takes Si's paper from him, 
pastes, addresses and hands it to her.) Here's a pa- 
per for you; that's all this morning, I'm very sorry 
to say. 

Sal Slope. O, thank you, tho muth ! (She goes 
out.) 

Si (rising and protesting). Here! That's going 
too far ! What do you mean by taking my paper away 
from me, — right from under my eyes? 



ON THE WABASH. 47 

Ned {cooly). It's going to a voter on the East side. 
You've got to keep the boys in line, you know. 

Si {in a mollified tone). To a voter? Oh, it's all 
right then! {He fills his pipe and smokes.) 

Ned. Business is picking up! I sold two dollars 
more in stamps this week than I did last week. The 
post-office is becoming a regular social center. 

Si. I'll tackle Uncle Sam to raise my salary, if this 
rush keeps on. 

Ned. Don't forget mine. My present stipend 
hardly keeps mic in neckties. 

Si. Be careful you don't get a different kind of 
necktie than you want. Some time you might get the 
wrong kind of a raise. 

Ned. They wouldn't hang a man, would they, just 
because he asked for higher wages? 

Si. That's the biggest crime a man can commit in 
this country! 

Bill Popp. Give me my mail! 

Ned {shoves out an armful of letters). That's all 
this time. 

Bill Popp. The suckers aint biting so good as they 
used to. I'll have to change my bait. 

Ned. What bait have you been using? 

Bill Popp. I call it ''Bill Popp's Cure-all, for Mule 
or Beast," ten cents each. Didn't you never read my 
book? You've missed the treat of your life, if you 
haint. The price is ten cents ; $7.50 for a hundred ; 
$25.00 for a thousand. If you buy in larger lots, I can 
make 'em two for a cent. They're dirt cheap at the 
price. 



48 . ON THE WABASH. 

Ned (graciously) . Have you sold a good many? 

Bill Popp (boastingly) . I've sold mbre'n a million 
of 'em. I'll let you take ten on trial, and if you sell 
'em you can give me fifty cents and keep the other 
half-dollar for yourself. 

Ned. That seems fair. How much do they cost by 
the bushel? 

Bill Popp (blandly). I'll tell you, as you look Hke 
a chap who can keep a secret ; — they cost more'n 
they're worth! He, he, he! Now you know, don't 
tell nobody! 

Ned. Is that joke original with you? 

Bill Popp. There's nothing original with me or with 
"Mule or Beast". If there was, I couldn't have sold 
a hundred on 'em. Originality don't pay in this coun- 
try no more. (He goes out.) 

Pauline (enters and steps up to zmndow). I'm 
glad the rush is over. I wanted to talk to you about 
the debate. You haven't accepted the subject yet. 

Ned (jogging himself). That's so. What's a sub- 
ject between friends, anyhow? 

Pauline (earnestly). But it's a very sober mat- 
ter; all the society women in Wauseon are going to 
attend. You may not know it, but you're very popu- 
lar in this village. 

Ned (good naturedly). Popularity has been my 
vice. The place where I want to find favor most — 
with my family — is where I fail. Is the debate to be 
a benefit affair? 

Pauline. Yes ; for the foreign missions. It's a 
very worthy cause, too! 



ON THE WABASH. 49 

Ned. That's true ! But I heard of a case where the 
missionaries were so anxious to cover the naked that 
they sent for a ship-load of second-hand clothes. The 
savages were proud to wear the civilized man's garb, 
tho not quite in a civilized manner — hat and vest some- 
times constituting a full suit. — But alas ! one piece was 
infected with the germs of measles; the disease swept 
off the entire colored population like a plague. The 
missionaries had no one left to preach to, and returned, 
sadder, if not wiser men. 

Pauline. But they couldn't help that, could they? 
You'll accept, won't you? 

Ned. But which side am I to take, for or against? 

Pauline. Why, for, of course! — You don't sup- 
pose we'd let such an orator as you are take the nega- 
tive, do you? 

Ned. You're jollying me ! But won't you come in 
and give me some points? 

Pauline (coming in thru private entrance door). 
How different it looks from the inside ! 

Ned. Yes, indeed ; it's like politics. 

Hank (shouldering a mail pouch — aside to Si at 
chute). Pretty good, eh? Politics is different from 
the inside! 

Si. He didn't miss it more than a mile! 

Hank (to Ned). Come on, sonny, and lend a hand! 
(Hank and Ned carry out pouches. Si gets a chair for 
Pauline.) 

Si. Make yourself right to home. We don't rest 
on formality in this post-office; — not if you're a friend 
of Ned Knowles. 



50 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline. Thank you, Mr. Cart. But I can't stay 
long, I've so much work to do. I'm organizing a club 
for orphaned children, and another one for bridge 
whist. But aren't those pictures a little bold, Mr. Cart. 

Si (turns two of them to the wall). Perhaps they 
are a little gay. You see, us politicians like to take our 
art rare. They're done enough on one side, it's about 
time I should turn them over. 

Pauline. Thank you so much, Mr. Cart; you are 
very kind, I'm sure. 

Si. If ever Samantha Stoodenwhacker sets eyes on 
them, she'd give it to me ! She has no taste for such 
like ; Tobe is the only connoisseur in the family. 

Pauline. You are very considerate of Samantha's 
feelings, Mr. Cart, aren't you? Not every man would 
be so deferential in a like situation. 

Si. Oh, Samantha's awful particular! {Freddie 
Mills pounds vigorously with his canceler.) Hey! 
You needn't try to knock the block off the Father of 
your Country. (Freddie stops pounding. Tobe enters 
and goes to G. D. windozv, knocks and raps on the 
glass in vain. Losing his patience, he takes out a key 
and unlocks a box. He picks up an armful of MSS.) 

Si ( comes leisurely to the general delivery zvindow) . 
Quite a lot of mail, Tobe! Are they all returns? 
Poetry isn't what it used to be. The hard times has 
knocked your business all to flinders, I'm afraid. You 
ought to try writing advertisements ; they'd pay you 
better. 

Tobe (cuttingly) . Where's my registered letter? 

Si. Are you expecting one? Where from? 



ON THE WABASH. 51 

ToBE. That's my business! (Counts over his MSS, 
letting several fall to the floor. Stoops and picks them 
up — others fall.) I sent away twelve essays and two 
poems. The essays are all back and one of the poems. 
They must have accepted the other one. It's strange 
they didn't enclose a check, — someone has been tamper- 
ing with my mail. 

Si. I wouldn't say that, Tobe. You may get it lat- 
er. Keep a looking ; that's what post-offices are for. 

Tobe. So I shall ! And if I don't find it, I'll make 
someone sweat. (Looking in P. M.'s office and sees 
Pauline. Gallantly.) Oh, Pauline! Come with me; 
I want to read you my latest effusion. I had a truly 
inspired moment this morning as I looked over the old 
Wabash. The air was so balmy and the water so sil- 
very. Thousands of mocking birds, brown thrushes 
and tiny wrens, sang their love songs in spirited warb- 
iings. Lines came upon me. A genuine poem sprang 
into being unawares. I want you to share my joy and 
hear the finest effort of my life. You are so sympa- 
thetic. 

Si (satirically) . How about me? Ned has given me 
lots of pointers since he's been here. Am I not a com- 
petent judge of oratory? — Then why not of its allied 
art, poetry? 

Tobe (testily). You? I'll hold you accountable for 
my missing manuscript, if I don't hear from it soon. 
(Turns.) Come, Pauline, this is no place for us. I'll 
read you my poem amidst the fragrance of the honey- 
suckle and the perfume of the jasmin. 

Pauline (to Si). Tell Ned I'll be back soon! 
(Pauline and Tobe leave. James Maul enters and ap- 
plies himself to rapping at the general delivery win- 
dow.) 



52 ON THE WABASH. 

Maul (loudly). Hey! I say there — hey! (Raps 
loudly.) 

Si (to Freddie Mills). It's funny how some people 
get in such a big hurry as soon as they enter a post- 
office. They think the mail ought to distribute itself. 
(Opens zvindow. Politely.) What can I do for you 
this morning ? Did you bring in any fresh eggs ? 

Maul (sourly). If I brought any, they're fresh. 
I'm a going to complain about this office. I've worn 
out my knuckles pounding on that window. I want 
my mail, and I want it quicker'n scat. 

Si. What's your name ? I might be able to wait on 
you, if — 

Maul. You know it better than I do! It's James 
Maul, and I'm expecting a catalog. It ought to have 
been here last Saturday, but it wasn't. It's sure in now. 

Si (looking thru box). Nope! nary catalog for 
Maul. 

Maul. That's funny ; there must be some mistake. 
You better look again. 

Si (confidentially). You can't count on anything for 
sure, least of all on the postal service. I've had mails 
carried past so many times it makes my head dizzy 
counting 'em. 

Maul. We all have our troubles in this vale of 
tears. But you get paid for yours, while I have mine 
for nothing. 

Si. It's mighty poor pay ! Some folks have an idea 
that postmasters are millionaires. They ought to run 
this office once ; they'd find out different mighty quick. 
(Calmly.) By the way, how's the buttermilk out your 
way? It's been so long since I had a glass, I'd be 
ashamed to look a cow in the face. 



ON THE WABASH. 53 

Maul (jeeringly). We don't make butter no more; 
we run our milk thru a separator and sell the cream ; 
the rest we give to the hogs, — what the hogs won't take, 
we drink ourselves. 

Si. You're just joshing me! But what were you 
going to order from the City of Sin? A little wet 
goods ? 

Maul (hotly). That's my business! You would 
like to poke fun at us Prohibitionists, and make out 
that we are as bad as you are ; I'll show you one who 
aint. I'm not afraid to tell the truth. I was going to 
order a quart of bitters for snake-bite. They killed a 
twelve-foot rattler down on the marsh yesterday, and 
Maria says we better have an antidote handy. 

Si. Maria's right ! Step in and I'll fix you up with 
a quart of the best snake-bite medicine in the world. 
(Maul enters private office and Si goes over to a keg 
marked "nails" and draws a quart of whiskey.) A 
twelve- foot rattler! I hope no one got bit? {Wraps 
up the whiskey and hands it to Maul.) Give this to 
Maria with my best compliments, and tell her that Si 
Cart wants her support in the primlaries, and in the 
campaign. Woman's influence is not to be sneezed at 
in politics. (Fills tzvo glasses.) And now let us take 
a drop as a preventive. You can never tell what those 
pesky rattlers are going to do next. 

Maul (meltingly). Since you put it in that way, I 
don't care if I do. (They drink.) 

Si. I've seen 'em already, but not twelve feet long! 
The biggest was nine foot six. He had twenty-four 
rattlers on. He was born before the war; the Revolu- 
tionary war, I mean. 



54 ON THE WABASH. 

Maul. Of course. (Stai-ts to go out; returns.) 
Say, you needn't send out a tracer for that catalog. I 
don't need it now. I apologize for what I said about 
postmasters; there are some good men amongst them 
after all. 

Si. I hope so! (Goes to stove as Maul is at G. D. 
windozv.) Here! I found it! In the wrong box, as 
usual! I must jack up that clerk of mine; he's al- 
ways making funny mistakes, — putting it in S in- 
stead of M. Well, good-bye, Mr. Maul! Don't for- 
get what I told you to tell Maria! {Maul goes out.) 

Freddie {coming forzuard). You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself; corrupting a good man like 
James Maul ! But that's the way with you politicians ; 
— you've got no decency. 

Si {plaintively). I didn't corrupt him; I saved him 
from the crime of spending his money out of town. 
If the people really hated politicians as much as you 
say, they wouldn't elect 'em to office. You, Freddie, 
will never be a politician, — nor much of anything else. 

Freddie {belligerently) . I don't want to be one, if 
I have to be like you. Politicians are grafters and 
boodlers, and you know it ! 

Si {smoothly). The biggest kickers don't always 
make the best officers. I try to run this place to suit 
the people. I guess I am doing it pretty well, or I'd 
hear complaints, — not that I am looking for any more 
to-day. 

Freddie. You have a slick way of beating the devil 
around the stump, — that's why you are postmaster! 
But you better look out; hiring Ned Knowles won't 
get you anything. He's crooked, and you'll find it out 
some day, too. 



ON THE WABASH. 55 

Si {looking at him carefully). Why, what's the 
matter with Ned? What do you know wrong about 
him? You better be careful what you say! 

Freddie (blusteringly) . You wait and see! I keep 
my eyes open, I do. Some day there'll be a missing 
registered package, and I don't intend to have the 
blame put on me. I'm looking out for number one, I 
am. 

Si. Nonsense! You're just jealous of Ned, that's 
all. 

Freddie. Me? Jealous of that dude? I guess not. 
I've given you fair warning, so if anything happens ; 
remember I told you. (He goes back. Mrs. Stooden- 
zvhacker and Gzuennie Cart come in together and walk 
into private office. Mrs. Stoodenwhacker steps to door 
and motions to Si. He jumps up hastily and runs to 
her.) 

Si. Only one letter for you this morning. (Hands 
her a big envelop.) 

Samantha (in a society manner). I was sort of 
expecting a bill from my millinery down to the Capi- 
tal. What do you think of this hat? Only $37.90! 
(Turns so he can admire it.) 

Si. It's quite a set-off to your style of beauty, but 
it seems to me that a hat like that ought to cost about 
$3.79 in this man's town. 

Samantha (testily). Si Cart! You've been open- 
ing my mail again ! The next time I catch you, I'll 
sign charges against you, I will. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself. (She turns her back.) 

Si (soothingly). Now, now! Don't get excited! 
You can't blame me. I take such an interest in you 
that it sets me crazy when you get a love letter from a 
strange man. 



56 ON THE WABASH. 

Samantpia. But it wasn't a love letter; — it was a 
bill. Don't be silly! 

Si. Maybe I am silly, but it's over one of the finest 
women I ever set eyes on. 

Samantha {shreivdly). YouVe a tormented fool! 
You are famous for your slick tongue, and since you 
know so much, you might help me pay for my hat. 

Si {reluctantly). Well, here's $5.00. Keep the 
change. I'm sorry I made such a mistake. It won't 
happen again. You'll forgive me, won't you, Saman- 
tha? 

Samantha {good naturedly). Well, since you put 
it that way, I don't miind if I do. {She taps him play- 
fully on the shoulder and leaves.) 

Si {plaintively). This durned shebang is getting 
more expensive every minute. I'm out a quart of rye 
and a $5.00 bill and it isn't noon yet. {He seats him- 
self at the G. D. zvindozv and looks out vacantly.) 

G\VENNiE {to Freddie). Are you coming to the 
rink to-night? 

Freddie. Yes, if you want me to. 

GwENNiE. Sure I do ; isn't Ned becoming a lovely 
skater tho. I taught him everything he knows. I 
wonder if it's true about him, that his folks are so 
rich ? 

Freddie {snappishly). It doesn't do him any good 
if they are, as they've turned him down. Why do you 
let him hang around you so much ? What do you find 
so attractive in him? I'm as good as he is any day, 
and you hardly look at me when he's near. {Throws 
mail viciously.) 



ON THE WABASH. 57 

GwENNiE. I'd hate to have your temper! Ned 
Knowles is nothing to me, I'm sure ! He's only help- 
ing me with my studies in return for my teaching him 
to skate. Turn about is fair play, isn't it? 

Freddie. He's making a dunce of you, that's what 
he is ! He's a good skater on other things than ice, 
according to all reports. 

GwENNiE. You're just jealous of him, that's all. 
You'd believe anything against him, no matter who 
told you. 

Freddie. Jealous ? — Huh ! It would take more than 
a chap like him to make me jealous. He's a regular 
flirt! You'll find it out soon enough. He doesn't 
care a snap for the girls of this town. I don't blame 
him for amusing himself while he's here. I would, 
too, if I were in his boots. But I wouldn't let him 
make a monkey out of me, if I were you. 

Gwennie (hotly). No; because you are one al- 
ready! No gentleman talks about his betters behind 
their backs. 

Freddie (sneeringly) . He, my better? You're jok- 
ing! 

Gwennie. Look out or I'll tell him what you said. 

Freddie. Tell him for all I care! If you don't, I 
will. (He stamps out znciously.) 

Gwennie (tosses her head, then goes to Si and puts 
her hands over his eyes) . Guess who it is ! 

Si (softly). It's you, Samantha! 

Gwennie. Yes ; it's Samantha Stoodenwhacker ! 
(He pats her hand and discovering his mistake, re- 
leases himself.) I'd be ashamed. And at you age, 
too! Are you going to let her set her cap for you and 
catch you napping? 



58 ON THE WABASH. 

Si (shamelessly). I don't see how I can help my- 
self, if she's put her mind to it. How about my little 
mischief-maker herself? Isn't she laying a trap for a 
certain young fellow, who shall be nameless? 

GwENNiE. The idea! Whatever put that notion 
into your head ? 

Si. Notions sometimes sprout of their own accord. 
I can guess his fate, too. 

GwENNiE (archly). You can? I don't see — Oh, 
dad! Let's make a bargain. I'll agree not to tease 
you about Samantha, if you won't tease me about — a 
certain party. 

Si. Good! Shake on it! (They shake hands.) 

GwENNiE. And now to carry the war into the ene- 
my's camp. 

Si. We'll march through Georgia just like damn 
Yankees. 

GwENNiE. Pa ! How you talk ! 

Si. The Rebs called us damn Yankees so often 
lliat they forgot they were two separate words. 

GwENNiE. Is it true that you soldiers stole all their 
chickens ? 

Si. We took 'em as contraband of war ; — when- 
ever we could catch 'em. We didn't dare shoot 'em, as 
the noise would stir up the Johnnies. Do you want to 
hear about how Tobe's father and I pretty near got 
caught once? 

GwENNiE. Not now, pa. Don't let's fight the whole 
war over again. I've heard Hank Fox call you '*01d 
Chicken Thief" to your face and you laughed. There 
must be some justice in his charge. 



ON THE WABASH. 59 

Si. Oh, Hank? He was only joking. We have 
great times calHng each other names. — That's the way 
with us old soldiers — to laugh now over what we cried 
at then. 

Ned (entering). How do you do, Miss Cart? May 
I see you alone for a minute? 

Si. a hint is as big as a mint. (He goes out.) 

GwENNiE (turning in surprise). Why, how do you 
do, Mr. Knowles? I want to talk to you about my 
grammar lesson. 

Ned (politely). Wouldn't you rather talk about my 
skating lesson? 

Gwennie (szi^eetly). Whichever you prefer. 

Ned, You should say, — whatever you prefer — not 
whichever. 

Gwennie. I know "whichever" is right, but we can 
look it up to-night. 

Ned. Let's skate to-night. You are getting to be a 
better grammarian than I am a skater. I need the 
exercize more than you do the exercizes. 

Gwennie. Do you really think so ? Tobe Stooden- 
whacker helps me lots. He says, I've made remark- 
able strides in my English this summer. 

Ned (jealously), li you ask Tobe to help you, 
you're no friend of mine. He accused me of opening 
one of his letters and stealing $5.00 — whichever is not 
right. 

Gwennie. Do tell ! But where did he get the $5.00 
from? 

Ned. He imagines he sold one of his poems. 



60 ON THE WABASH. 

GwENNiE. Who'd buy one, I'd like to know? 
(Pauline MacKinny enters corridor.) Hello, Pauline! 
Come here ! Did you hear about Tobe ? He claims he 
sold a poem for $5.00, and that Ned stole the money. 
Isn't he too absurd. 

Pauline (spitefully) . Don't mention Tobias Stood- 
enwhacker's name to me again! He's dotty! (Ap- 
proaches Ned.) Don't take it so hard. No one will 
believe you stole it! At least no one who knows you 
as well as I do. 

Ned (gulping hard). It's tough to be accused of 
theft by a chum ; a college chum at that ! I've a notion 
to chuck it all up and go back home. I believe dad will 
let me sleep in the stable, if he won't admit me to the 
house ; for a cent I'd try him. 

GwENNiE. And leave pa without a deputy? You 
couldn't think of it ! 

Pauline. And disappoint the Debating Circle? 
You're to take the affirmative side, too; the one they 
preferred. You can't leave them in the lurch this late 
in the day. 

Ned. I almost forgot, I haven't prepared a word. 
Besides, no one wants to hear a thief. 

Pauline (chidingly). Don't be ridiculous! You 
said your whole life was a preparation on the question 
of Woman's Suffrage, and that you needn't study up 
on that subject one mloment. 

Ned. I — I — was joking. I've never seen women 
vote except at college elections. Then they always 
went in for a dancing man, whether he was qualified, 
or not. 

Pauline. Always? Didn't we elect Tobe Class 
Poet ? Wasn't he the man for that position ? 



ON THE WABASH. 61 

Ned. You can't credit your sex for electing him 
poet, — he elected himself. ... If that debate was all 
I had to worry about, I'd be a happy man. Tobe strain- 
ed his poetic license to the bursting point in saying I 
cribbed his five spot. He will have to apologize, that's 
all. I can excuse a rejected poet for being peeved, but 
I can't permit him to asperse my financial integrity. 

Samantha (passes rapidly thru outer office and 
bursts out loudly). Where's Silas Cart? Some one 
has been monkeying with Tobe's mail and returned his 
trash to me. It's outrageous the way things are going 
on in this office! It's perfectly shameful — 

Ned (steps up and takes a paper from her). Per- 
haps this is the missing poem? (Goes outside and 
calls.) Tobe! Tobe! 

Tobe (appears sulkily). Well? What do you want 
now? Are you going to give mfe my $5.00? 

Ned (hands him paper). Is this yours? Look 
sharp before you reply. 

Tobe (puts on his goggles and reads). Yes ; but it's 
ruined. Some one has substituted a Latin word for an 
Anglo-Saxon one. 

Samantha (hotly). I believe it's all Si Cart's do- 
ings ; he's a fine postmaster, I do declare ! Where he 
has hid himself, the land knows. 

Ned. Gone out to see the score. Tobe, go fetch 
him ; tell him your mother's here and he'll just fly 
back. (Tobe leaves with the MS. clutched firmly in 
his hand.) 

Pauline. It's lucky for you that he found it! 
Your job wouldn't have lasted long. 

Ned (scornfully) . The idea of such rot selling for 
$5.00. 



62 ON THE WABASH. 

Samantha (jealously). Some parts of it are real 
literary. Tobe has the right temperament for an au- 
thor, I'm sure. He got it from his father who used to 
write advertisements, when he wasn't painting signs. 

Ned. Tobe's father painted signs? 

Samantha (naively). Yes; all his signs were high 
signs. You had to look up to read them. He painted 
one on a stand-pipe once, 150 feet high. It made me 
dizzy to watch him. I was afraid of his falling, — he 
was so light-headed. 

Ned. Practiced high art, it seems. 

Samantha. Yes, indeed. They gave him a five 
dollar bill for painting it, — and we bought our mar- 
riage license with the money. 

Ned. How interesting! It goes to show that Tobe 
is the offspring of aspiring parents. No wonder he is 
up in the clouds so much of the time. (Tobe and Si 
return.) 

Tobe. It's all right. I got my $5.00.-1 take it all 
back. I beg everybody's pardon. — I've sold it. 

Ned. You better beg mine in particular. Be more 
careful about accusing your best friend of theft. 
Whom did you touch this time? 

Tobe. I sold it to a connoisseur. 

Ned. Or to a shamateur, which? 

Si. I bought it. You see, I kind o' Hke its swing. 
I thought I'd nail it up in the office, 'side of one of 
those pictures. The two sort of harmo — what you call 
it? — harmonize. Don't you think so, Tobe? 

Tobe (in the bashful manner of an accepted au- 
thor). Hem — well — perhaps they do, — in a way — in 
a way. 



ON THE WABASH. 63 

Si. Let me read it to you! It's a regular gem! 
(Tobe and Mrs. Stoodenwhacker stand enraptured — 
Pauline, Gwennie and Ned turn their backs as he gets 
along. ) 

From eyes divine, 
Love lights shine, 
The beauty of the rose, 
Is in your pose, 
And will you pose for me, my lily ? 

Ne'er did fond heart 
More quickly start 
Than mine it's beat 
Against your feet, 
Oh ! — Will you pose for me, my lily ? 

Isn't that high class ? ( Tobe smiles in esthetic appre- 
ciation. ) 

Samantha (takes it out of Si's hand, tears it up 
and thrones it in the stove. The Hre starts burning 
brightly). I think it's a little too high class, with all 
that about posing. 

Si. Here, what are you doing? It's mine — mine. I 
paid for it. (Rtmning his hand thru his hair trag- 
ically.) And what's mine is yours. It was warm and 
no mistake. But it's gone — lost to posterity ! 

Samantha (grimly). Posterity can stand the loss. 
Come, sonny, I want to talk to you a minute. ( Takes 
Tobe by the ear and marches him aziray.) 

To'BE. Let loose; ouch! (They go out.) 

Ned. The sad end of a poet! Come back for the 
next mail, won't you girls? 

p ^ ' [-Sure! (They leave.) 



64 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned {stooping down and picking up Tohe's glasses). 
Well, Tobe won't write any more for the present. 
{Holds goggles up for Si to see.) He's a cripple with- 
out these ; his muse halts. 

Si. He can't see green enough without 'em. There 
goes $5.00 more! That makes ten this morning and 
a quart of rye; I tell you this post-office business 
haint what it's cracked up to be. {Hank Fox enters 
chute ivith a mail sack. Freddie Mills and Ned sort it 
rapidly zvith closed zmndozas. As they work back. 
Hank and Si come forward.) 

Hank. I got another township fixed for you. That 
makes eighty-five votes you can count on for sure. 
You need only ten more. 

Si {rubbing his hands) . Wonderful, wonderful! It 
begins to look promising! To think that I should be 
the one to represent the glorious 14th district in Con- 
gress. It's too good to be true. 

Hank. Figures don't lie. All you need now is 
Baugo Township and the trick's turned. The Repub- 
licans don't stand no show this time, — the whole coun- 
try is up in arms. You are sure to sweep the district. 
It'll be a regular land-slide. 

Si. How am I going to get those other delegates? 

Hank. Leave it to me. I haven't studied politics 
ever since I wore a bib and tucker for nothing. We'll 
have a barbecue and you can give 'em a speech. Free 
beef and free cider! You can't beat that combination 
for results on the Wabash. 

Si. But I can't spiel for shucks. 

Hank. You can give 'em the razzle dazzle about 
old General Baugo, the Revolutionary hero, after 
whom Baugo Township was namfed. 



ON THE WABASH. 65 

Si {leaning over table). But I don't know much 
about him. 

Hank {at other end of table, putting his hands in his 
pockets). Neither do I! We must get Ned to help. 
He can write up a speech. I'll get Tobe to compose a 
poem. We'll carry them off their feet afore they 
know it. 

Si {shaking his head). Tobe's poems '11 do in love, 
but I'm afraid of their effect in politics. Ned's all 
right, — but cut out Tobe. 

Hank. What the boys want is words, words — and 
no thought. Tobe's poems come nigher to filling that 
bill than anything I know. 

Si. Maybe he'll throw one in for that five spot. 

Hank. Sure ! Just ask him ! Tell him to get busy ! 
That his name is just as good as made. {Freddie Mills 
begins thumping zvith his canceler and Ned stops 
assorting the mail.) 

Ned. What are you conspirators up to now ? 

Hank. We were wondering if you could be at the 
barbecue and circulate among the delegates in behalf 
of Si's candidacy. And we want you to get up a fine 
speech for him. 

Ned. Speech ? That's my long suit. I took a prize 
for oratory before I got out of knee-pants. I can put 
over a dandy curve in that line, — one that will keep 
'em all guessing. 

Hank. You're the man we're looking for. Oratory 
is the ticket. I hate to see the harpoon slung into Si. 
They're whetting their knives to take his scalp. {Si 
reaches up and feels his hair in trepidation.) 



66 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned. In that case, I'm his Indian. He's done too 
much for me to forsake him now when his scalp is in 
danger. 

Hank. Bully! Put it there! (Extends hand.) I 
knew you were true blue. 

Si {or at or ic ally) . I'm making no promises, Edward, 
but if I'm nominated, I'm the same as elected; I'll 
need a private secretary to go to Washington to attend 
the balls, and dance with the daughters of the foreign 
ambassadors and do the other swallow-tail business be- 
longing and appertaining to the exalted position of 
Congressman, and — 

Hank. Go on — go on! You're doing fine. 

Si. As I was saying, I need a Sancho Panza to help 
me mount that fiery Rocinante called the people. 
{Thrusts one hand in his bosom and the other thru his 
hair in the traditional manner.) I bar none in weight 
and size better fitted for Dapple's seat than my friend, 
Nedward Owles — er — er, than Edward Knowles — the 
Giant Haw-Tree of the Wabash ! 

Hank. Bravo! {He stamps his heels vigorously on 
the floor. Si sits at end of table with great dignity. 
Constable Told enters and stands by G. D. zcindozv.) 

Told {quietly). Edward Knowles? Then I'm on 
the right trail after all ! {Pulls out revolver.) 

Ned {turns towards Si and speaks simply). I ap- 
preciate your homely humor, and realize underneath 
your light manner there lies a depth of true feeling. 
You have touched a tender spot thru your kindly offices 
to me. I shall do all I can to assist you in the further- 
ance of your great ambition. As to any return, I 
thank you, but I can accept none. The opportunity to 
show my gratitude in deeds is all I ask. {He turns to 



ON THE WABASH. 67 

assort letters. Freddie Mills goes to work quietly. 
Hank Fox wipes his nose and looks out zvindow. Si 
Cart blozi'S his nose vigorously and furtively dries a 
tear.) 

Hank (brokenly). He's true blue, true blue. 

Ned (opens G. D. zvindow. Constable Told shoves 
rez'olver in his .face.) O ! Hello ! 

Told. Hands up! 

Ned (dodges down, picks up Tobe's goggles, puts 
them on and confronts him). I beg your pardon! 
Were you speaking to me ? 

Told (still holding the gun). Be you Edward 
Knowles ? 

Ned (cooly). I hardly know who I am at this mo- 
ment ! What do you want ? Who are you ? Are you 
a robber or a practical joker? 

Told. I'll show you who I am. I want Edward 
Knowles, student. I heard his name spoken. He's 
here. (Goes rapidly thru private entrance. Points 
gun at Si and Fred — Hank skips out chute — but not 
until Told fires at him.) Hands up! (They hold up 
hands.) I'mi an officer of the law, I am. I'm here in 
the performance of duty. I demand the body of Ed- 
ward Knowles. 

Ned. Do you want it dead or alive? 

Told. Shut up ! I've got a warrant for him. He's 
the slipperiest, ornariest cuss on earth. Where is he? 
(To Si.) Do you hear? (To Ned.) You better not 
try and hide him ! — If you do, it won't go well with 
you. (To Freddie Mills.) Speak up, sonny. 

Freddie (his teeth chattering). I don't know, — that 
is— I— I— 



68 ON THE WABASH. 

Told. Then go look for him ! Tell him a friend is 
here and wants to see him. (Freddie runs out timidly.) 

Si. That was him you shot at ! 

Told. Well, I hope I hit him ! But he was an older 
man, it 'pears to me ; tho he did get out pretty spry. 
(Hank FoXf Tobe Stoodenzvhacker, Mrs, Stooden- 
zifJiacker, Pauline MacKinny, Gwennie Cart, Hal 
IVhopp, Sal Slope and James Maul enter with other 
villagers. They sneak around the corrider and peek in 
the boxes, trying to get sight of the highwayman. They 
carry pitchforks, shovels, guns, revolvers, rakes, etc. 
Tobe Stoodenwhacker, armed with a hoe, pushes 
thru the private door and advances to strike Told.) 

Si. Halt! (Raises his hand to Tobe.) There is 
your man! 

Told (whirls on Tobe). Drop that hoe! (Points 
gun in his face.) I arrest you in the name of the law ! 
(He slips the nippers on Tobe after a short struggle. 
The villagers troop inside.) 

Tobe. Arrest me ? You don't know who I am ! 

Samantha (excitedly) . He is not the one. 

Si (holding up his hand). Silence, Samantha! He 
has arrested his man! This is a federal office^ — it is 
government ground. I am in full control. Let him 
take his prisoner and depart. 

Maul. No ! Ride him on a rail ! 

Hank Fox. String him to a lamp post! 

Hal Whopp. T-tar and f-feather him ! 

Omnes. Hang him! Hang him! (They advance 
threateningly.) 



ON THE WABASH. 69 

Told. I'll shoot the first man who touches me! 
(Waves his revolver.) I'm an officer, and I've got 
more right in here than all of you 'cept him. (To Si.) 
Are you going to protect me or not ? 

Si. Surely, surely. (To the crozud.) Now get out 
of here, all of you. (They don't move. Si motions to 
Told to take Tobe out.) 

Told (to Tobe). Come on with mte! (He drags 
Tobe off thru the mail chute. The crozifd follows.) 

Samantha (to Si). But why? Why did you let 
him take Tobe instead of Ned? I can't understand. 

Si (earnestly) . Samantha, your son is a poet. A 
few days in jail will do him good. It will fire his 
genius. I must have a poem on General Baugo that 
will fetch the delegates from Baugo Township. — 
Tobe's the man for the job. He can do it, if he only 
has the chance ; besides, I need Ned here, — so do you. 
How would you get your mail without Ned? Do you 
want your mail every day regular? 

Samantha (blubbering). I don't care for my mail, 
I want my Tobe ! 

Si. I'll get him out soon enough. It's no disgrace 
to serve a short term for principle. He's doing it to 
save Ned and to help me. It's noble of him, and we 
all appreciate his sacrifice and yours, too. When he 
comes back, he can be elected Mayor, if he wants to 
run. You'll leave it to me, won't you Samantha ? 

Samantha. I sup — suppose I'll have to. But you're 
a tormented old fool, that's what you are ! 

Pauline (spitefully) . Ned Knowles, you're a brute 
to let Tobe go to jail in your place! You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself. 



70 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned. But he said I stole his $5.00. 

Pauline. But he took it back again ! Come on, 
Mrs. Stoodenwhacker, we'll see him off together. The 
whole town will be there. {They go out.) 

Si {dubiously). I guess I better mosey down to the 
interurban station, too ; something might go off with 
all that powder in the air. {He follozvs them.) 

GwENNiE. Oh, Ned! Aren't you going, too? 

Ned. In a minute ! {He closes G. D. zmndozv, shuts 
P. M.'s door, pulls dozim curtain and steals up to 
Gwennie and slips an arm around her waist.) Are 
you ready? 

Gwennie {removing his arm). Not that way! 
{She starts out.) 

Ned. What's the hurry? Can't you stay a minute? 
The car doesn't leave for half an hour. 

Gwennie. I forgot to ask Tobe about ''whichever" 
and "whatever". I must see him before they take him 
away. 

Ned. Oh, bother Tobe! It's Tobe this, and Tobe 
that, until you can't rest. I don't see what there is in 
him for you to run after! 

Gwennie. It isn't running after him to ask him a 
question, is it? And then I want to bid him good-bye, 
before he goes to prison — for your sake. 

Ned. For my sake ! That's so. I didn't think of it 
that way. Hold on — I'll get his copy of "Black Hya- 
cinths" — it'll help him while his time away. You 
know, its author went to jail too. 

Gwennie. I didn't know it, but I thought he 
ought to. 



ON THE WABASH. 71 

Ned (tenderly). It seems heartless to joke about 
an honest fellow like Tobe ; I feel ashamed of myself 
for doing it. He is really the best friend I have in the 
world — that is — of male persuasion. 

GwENNiE. And do you count so many among my 
sex? 

Ned. Only my mother. I'll never forget her; she 
died when I was quite young and — 

GwENNiE. Do you miss her like I do mine, I won- 
der? 

Ned. It was years before I could go to sleep with- 
out my eyes filling over her absence from my bedside. 
I ought not to talk of her to you. Please forgive me. 
If you weren't my friend — 

GwENNiE (shyly). Friendships aren't all there are 
in life. 

Ned. Friendships lead on to something more, some- 
thing better. 

Gwennie. I can't be considered your friend yet. 
You are a comparative stranger to me. 

Ned. Stranger? After all we've gone thru together? 

Gwennie. I don't know your folks and they don't 
know mine. What you just said about your mother 
is the first thing I've heard about her. And I haven't 
told you a word about mine. 

Ned (leads her gently to a chair and stands beside 
her). I wish you would tell me now. I want to share 
whatever burden your heart bears. We smile, we 
laugh, we dance together, and we never get nearer than 
arms-length, because we are so self-absorbed. I — I 
don't want to be that way. Why, I feel like I could 
embrace the whole world; — my heart is so big after I 
have talked to you five minutes. 



72 ON THE WABASH. 

GwENNiE. But I don't want you to embrace the 
whole world! 

Ned. Well — I won't try then ; it's a pretty stiff job 
anyhow. But tell me about her, please do. 

GvvENNiE. She was so good, so beautiful ! I have 
her picture in my locket ; would you like to see it ? 
{Shozvs it to him.) 

Ned. Isn't she wonderful? And you — you are her 
very imlage. 

GwENNiE. Do you think so? When papa gets to 
talking about mama, — which he rarely does, he looks at 
me so strangely and sighs — so sadly — it brings tears to 
my eyes. But there (rising) I mustn't tell you any 
more. Besides, you're forgetting about Tobe's book. 
Aren't you going to take it to him ? 

Ned. That's so. Come, let's carry it down togeth- 
er. (He gets book, changes his office coat for a street 
coat, puts on his hat, takes Gwennies arm and goes 
out. Freddie Mills enters in time to see them leave, 
and shakes his fist at Ned. He goes to Ned's window 
and takes a registered package from box and slips it 
into Ned's zuorking coat pocket. He hides coat and 
goes out as the curtain falls.) 



ACT III. 

A garden. A cottage porch projects from the left. 
A small table zvith chairs, and a tree zvith bench. There 
is a lane leading (right) to the barbecue and (left) to 
the town. The garden fence is covered with trailing 
vines, clematis and arbutus, all abloom. 

Samantha (crocheting in rocker. To Pauline, who 
is sitting on tree bench). I got a long letter from Tobe 
last week. He spoke about missing you. He's anxious 
to be free once more. His time's up, but he isn't quite 
sure he'll be let out when they promised him. 

Pauline (with joy). He's coming back to-day! 
Aren't you glad? I am just crazy to see him. Here's 
his letter. (Handing it to her.) 

Samantha. I must tidy up his room a bit, and put 
some fresh daisies in his vase. Tobe just loves flow- 
ers! 

Pauline. Indeed he does. But wasn't he heroic to 
go thru his whole term without disclosing his identity, 
so as to enable Ned Knowles to work for Si's nomina- 
tion. Not many men would have done so much for 
a friend. 

Samantha. No Stoodenwhacker ever served three 
months in jail afore — except his pap at Andersonville, 
and he wouldn't have done that if the Rebs hadn't 
caught him! 



74 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline. Tobe is a martyr to his principles, — the 
same as his father. It's no disgrace to suffer imprison- 
ment for a good cause. 

Samantha. Why, in the namie of common sense, 
didn't he tell 'em his name? That's what makes me 
the maddest. He wouldn't have had to serve one day 
if he'd told 'em who he was. 

Pauline. They'd have taken Ned, and that would 
have spoiled all of Si's plans. — No; Tobe did just 
right. He acted most nobly. I could almost love him 
for it. 

Samantha (oracularly) . When a man gets so am- 
bitious that he's in for punishing the innocent and let- 
ting the guilty escape, it's time his schemes were brok- 
en up. I don't think Si stands a show of being nomi- 
nated Congressman anyhow. He isn't a fit man for 
the place. 

Pauline. But I thought you liked Si. He is so 
attentive to you. And surely his defeat would make 
you feel sorry, after he's worked so hard to capture 
the prize. 

Samantha. Oh ! I don't say but what he's got his 
good points, but justice is not one of them. If he 
could get the office honorably, I'd like to see him have 
it, but not in the way he's going about it; sacrificing 
everybody in pure selfishness ! 

Pauline. Tobe has had the use of the prison 
library; you know what that mteans to him. No 
doubt we have missed him more than he has us. 

Samantha. When he sticks his nose between two 
pages of a book, he doesn't know whether he's in jail 
or out. 



ON THE WABASH. 75 

Pauline. I blame Ned Knowles the most. He 
could have saved all the trouble by announcing his 
name at first; but he didn't, — he let Tobe suffer in 
his place without one pang. 

Samantha. Oh, I don't knov^ as I blame Ned 
much ! Si's wrapped Ned around his little finger : 
whenever Si crooks it, Ned jumps. 

Pauline (anxiously). They say that Ned is in 
love with Gwennie. Do you believe it? 

Samantha. I couldn't say as to Ned; — but she is 
dead gone on him, — anyone can see that with one eye 
shut. 

Pauline. I thought he liked me at one time. He 
almost said so, — but I never fancied him much. 

Samantha. Ned Knowles is one of the measly 
kind that falls in love with every pretty face he sees. 
That's what keeps him in hot water all the time. He's 
a regular polygamist, that's what he is. 

Pauline. I know he's quite a flirt. I prefer a 
steady young man like Tobe to Ned. 

Samantha (coming to her). Tobe Stoodenwhack- 
er has what I call genuine character. He may sacri- 
fice himself for his friends, but he'll never do any- 
thing to make them ashamed of him. (James Maul 
enters, stops, and comes to garden gate.) 

Maul. Be this (pointing right) the way to the bar- 
becue ? 

Samantha. Yes ; just keep on following that long 
nose of yours and you'll get there all right. 

Maul (stiffens up and starts out). My nose may 
be long, but it's never been stuck in nobody else's bus- 
iness. 



76 ON THE WABASH. 

Samantha. Do tell! I'd rather hear that from 
your neighbors than from you. (Maul starts, then 
runs on.) 

Pauline. The barbecue is quite an attraction. 

Samantha. So it is, and from the reports, it's 
likely to keep on attracting 'em as long as the hard 
cider lasts. (Hal Whopp and Sal Slope come in.) 
Keep right on ahead, two mile down that lane. 

Sal Slope. Thank you tho muth. Come on, Hallie ! 

Hal Whopp (stops). Is-is Tobe b-back yet? 

Samantha. If he is, he's down there. I hardly 
know whether I have a son any more since Si Cart's 
gone into politics. 

Sal Slope. We'll thee hin^ there. Come on, Hal- 
lie, leth hurry up! 

Hal Whopp. L-let loose of my hand ; y-you're 
always dragging me around after you ! I don't want 
t-to hurry up. 

Sal Slope. You're tho thlow. We'll never get 
there in time for the doingth, — all our folkth have been 
there for an hour. They'll eat up that cow, if you 
don't hurry. 

Hal Whopp. I d-don't care about the cow ; all I 
want is the c-cider. (They go out.) 

Pauline (at garden gate). Why, the lane is just 
crowded ! There must be an awful lot of people going. 

Samantha. Where there's free drinks and free 
eats the Democrats will flock. 

Pauline. Plow about the Republicans? Then 
there's Mr. Maul. He is a Prohibitionist. 

Samantha. Oh, a few rubbishers of all parties will 
go, including Socialists and Anarchists. 



ON THE WABASH. 7! 

Pauline. But there are no Anarchists in Wau- 
seon, are there? 

Samantha. Hank Fox is one if I don't miss my 
guess. He claims to be a Republican, and works for 
a Democrat. I don't know what this country's com- 
ing to, I declare. (Mrs. Stoodenwhacker goes into 
house. Freddie Mills comes to gate to speak to Paul- 
ine.) 

Freddie. Hello, Pauline! Why aren't you at the 
barbecue ? 

Paulinie. Why aren't you ? Everybody is going. 

Freddie. Won't you come with me? Ned Knowles 
is going to be there. 

Pauline. That's a good reason for me to stay 
here. 

Freddie. Don't you like him? {She shakes her 
head dubiously.) Neither do I. He's too stuck up. 
Say, do you know, I think his folks being so rich and 
all that is just a bluflF. I bet they're as poor as church 
mice, only he wants to impress the Reubens, as he 
calls us, with his tall stories. 

Pauline. He never called me that ! 

Freddie. He has me. {Mysteriously.) Do you 
know, there's been queer goings on in the post-office 
ever since he has been deputy. He got out of that 
trouble about Tobe's five dollars awful lucky, but 
there's another registered package mlissing, — he's sign- 
ed his name for it, too. He'll have to give an account 
of it, and there'll be a mess for him. Another man will 
be taken to jail from the post-office, and it won't be 
Tobe Stoodenwhacker either! 



78 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline. ] bet you have been up to some mean 
trick ! 

Freddie. I ? Don't you believe it ! — But aren't you 
going down there with me? 

Pauline. Say, sonny, you better run along, — it'll 
be dark before you get there, and the cows might bite 
you. 

Freddie. Fll go, but — but — you'll regret what you 
said! (Pauline goes into the house. He runs down 
the lane. Si Cart enters from the zvoods. He looks 
around furtively, spies Mrs. Stoodenwhacker s sezuing 
on the table, takes it up, and lays it down again.) 

Samantha (opens door, discovers him, waits until 
his back is turned, and then steals out to rocker. As 
he turns she pretends to be surprised.) What! You 
here? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. (Sits 
in rocker and takes up sewing.) Who dropped my 
needles ? You have been pawing over my sewing ! It's 
just like you ! Nothing is safe with a man like you 
around! (Looks at him as he stands by fence.) Well, 
haven't you any manners? Why don't you sit down? 

Si (with alacrity). Thanks — thank you, Samlantha; 
I will, since you put it that way! (Sits at table.) 

Samantha. How's the barbecue getting along? 
Have they ate everything up yet ? 

Si (drily). No, but Hank Fox is cutting down the 
size of the rations. It's getting to be a regular tea 
party except the hard cider. We can't cut down the 
glasses. We'll have to start the pump agoing soon ! 

Samantha. Water won't hurt them any. How's 
Baugo Township coming along? 



ON THE WABASH. 19 

Si. Just the same as ever. Hank and Tobe are 
looking after it all O. K. 

Samantha. Tobe ? Is he there ? How's he looking ? 

Si. Fine ! We got him out just in time to read his 
poem. It took great ; you ought to have heard it. 

Samantha. I should 've liked to. So you think it 
went good ? 

Si. You bet it did. The editor of the Squall's go- 
ing to publish it in his paper. He calls it a regular 
masterpiece. 

Samantha. I must send out and get a copy. (Rises 
and goes towards lane.) 

Si. The paper isn't out yet, — he's holding it back to 
announce my nomination. 

Samantha {returning to rocker). You talk as if 
you were dead certain of picking off the plum. You 
might drop it afore you bite it. 

Si. Hank Fox is tasting the postmastership already. 
And there are others with a similar flavor in their 
mouths. 

Samantha. Hank Fox aint fit to be postmaster! 
Why, he can't hardly sign his own name. 

Si. He can use a rubber stamlp, same's I do. Poli- 
tics is easy after you catch on. 

Samantha. Some folks never catch on. 

Si. Yes, and some never let loose. {Ned Knowles 
strolls in from the woods.) Hello! You back! Did 
I make your speech all right. 

Ned {warmly). You delivered it better than I 
could myself. It took great. Almost as great as Tobe's 
poem. 



80 ON THE WABASH. 

Si. rm glad of that. I forgot in one place and got 
tangled up in another, but I guess they were all too 
full of hard cider to notice. You write grand, — you 
are a regular Demosthenes. 

Samantha. Some say Tobe's poem took right smart. 

Ned. It did so, Mrs. Stoodenwhacker. You should 
be very proud of your son. He's destined to make his 
mark in the world some day. He'll rank up with the 
best of our minor poets, I'm satisfied. 

Samantha. He will if he keeps from going to jail 
in somebody else's place! 

Ned. But he thanked me warmly for giving him 
the chance. He said imprisonment inspired him, — 
the village bastile proved a great boon to his style. 

Samantha (disgustedly) . That's just his torment- 
ed foolishness ! He'll forget that grass is green, if he 
don't look out. (Prosaically.) But excuse me; I 
smell the taters burning. (She goes out.) 

Si (testily to Ned). When you saw us alone, why 
didn't you mosey? I've been trying to tell her some- 
thing for a coon's age, — and just as I was opening my 
bazoo, here you come poling along. Everything's go- 
ing wrong to-day. (He sits on steps moodily.) 

Ned (patting him on the shoulder). You're just 
nervous, that's all. Wait until you're nominated for 
Congress; she'll jump at you. 

Si. How are the Baugo boys coming? Still stick- 
ing to their boss? 

Ned. Yes. They are voting for George Washing- 
ton Slick, first, last, and all the time. 

Si. They'll get tired of him after a while. But will 
they swing to me, that's the question? 



ON THE WABASH. 81 

Ned. Their leader says he won't come over until 
he's been pledged the deputy postmastership of Wau- 
seon. Hank Fox won't promise him. He says he's 
fixed that up for another man. 

Si {clapping on his hat). He has, has he? He's 
getting a little premature with what isn't his. I'll 
straighten out that kink in one jerk of a lamb's tail. 
{He zualks out rapidly thru woods.) 

GwENNiE {enters from lane; stops in center). 
Hello, Ned ! When did you return from the barbecue ? 

Ned. a moment ago. 

GwEN'NiE. You pretended you didn't see me there. 
You are such a great man now, that you haint — 
haven't — any time for me any more, with your speech- 
es and politics and so on. 

Ned {going thru gate to her and bringing her down 
to tree bench. It grozi's darker. The moon shines 
thru the leaves.) You shouldn't talk like that. You 
know I had my hands full with the arrangements. Be- 
sides, Hank Fox is tipsy, and if I hadn't watched close- 
ly, all our plans would have been knocked into a cock- 
ed hat, — and then you could never have been a Con- 
gressman's daughter. 

GwENNiE. And I wouldn't have cared, either! 
That's all you think of me anyways ; — you don't like 
me as I am. You've been trying to make a grand lady 
out of me ever since you met me. I wish I'd never 
taken a single grammar lesson from you. {She turns 
away.) 

Ned. Oh, you needn't worry about that ! You didn't 
take enough to spoil you! {She pouts.) But Gwen- 
nie^ — 



82 ON THE WABASH. 

GwENNiE. You can call me Miss Cart, if you 
please. 

NiED, Miss Cart! (Walks away.) This is going 
too far ! Miss Cart indeed ! After all we've gone thru 
together. 

GwENNiE. Yes ; but whose fault was it that we 
went thru so much? Did I ask you to run after me 
every night since you've been in town? — At the church, 
at the rink, at my home? Why, you haven't given me 
one moment to myself. 

Ned. That's it! Pour it on good and thick! It's 
all my fault, of course! Who came to the post-office 
every day, I'd like to know? 

GwENNiE. I had a right to get my mail, didn't I? 

Ned. Your mail ? You never got one letter, — and — 

GwENNiE. That's not true! You were so mean 
you didn't want me to write Tobe Stoodenwhacker 
when he was in prison in your place. You wouldn't 
allow me to cheer him up. 

Ned. Yes, cheer him up! (He bangs his first on 
the table.) I suppose you call it cheering him up 
when you put a dozen crosses at the bottom of every 
letter and marked them kisses ! That's very cheering ! 

GwENNiE (cunningly). Well, isn't it? Besides, 
you had no business to open my letters. 

Ned. No, but your father had ! It's a good thing 
he took advantage of his right, too! 

GwENNiE. And then you accuse me of not getting 
any mail ! When you wouldn't let me write, and dad 
wouldn't let me read! 

Ned (conciliatingly). Well, perhaps I was a little 
hasty. I didn't mean anything. Will you forgive me ? 



ON THE WABASH. 83 

GwENNiE (getting out her handkerchief and dab- 
bing it to her eyes). You are always throwing things 
up to me that aint so. 

Ned (leaning over and trying to look into her eyes). 
It's because — it's because — well, I don't know just what 
to say, — but I guess it's because I can't bear you to have 
anything to do with another fellow. (The light sifts 
thru the clouds and lifts the tzvo out of the surround- 
ing gloom.) Thru you I have learned to value things 
at their real worth ; responsibility, — business, — friends 
— and — yes — and love. 

GwENNiE. Love ? 

NiED. Yes, love ! You helped me find myself. You 
made me see the things of real importance, — you made 
a man of me, and I can never pay you back. 

GwENNiE. I, — why, I haven't done anything. — I just 
listened to you talk, that's all. — There can never be 
anything serious between us. You belong to the big 
world — I, to this little village. Your family would not 
consent for you to marry a poor girl like me. 

Ned. Marry? (Releasing her hand.) By Jove! I 
never thought of that! 

GwENNiE. But you see I did ! I could not love you 
without marrying you, could I ? (She sinks on bench.) 

Ned (coming to her). Why not? 

GwENNiE. You ask me that? 

Ned. No ; you don't understand me ! — Why couldn't 
I take you back with me? That would be only one 
mjore mistake father'd have to forgive me. 

Gwennie. Yes, it would be a great mistake, — the 
greatest of all! One that would pass even his bounds 
of leniency. — No, Ned; it can never be. (She starts 
tozvards door.) 



84 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned. But if I write and get his permission ? 

GwENNiE. He would return your letter unopened 
just as he has all the others. 

Ned (drops on steps, puts his face in his hands). 
That's true! I'm up a blind alley. 

GwENNiE. Why don't you ask dad? He's so re- 
sourceful ; he'll think of some way out. 

Ned. You're right! Si could solve a regular Chi- 
nese puzzle! {He goes out and she enters house. Sal 
Slope and Hal Whopp enter. She carries a sack of 
flour and he two jugs of cider. They stop at the gar- 
den gate to rest. Sal puts the sack of flour on the 
fence and Hal sets jugs on bench.) 

Sal Slope. Gee ! That ith heavy. 

Hal Whopp. I-it must weigh f-fifty pounds or 
more. 

Sal Slope. Haint Thi a nith man tho? To give 
uth thith thider and flour ! — We can thtart houth keep- 
ing now, can't we, Hal ? And you have only gone with 
me thinth dog dayth ! 

Hal Whopp. Y-you bet we can; — I'll get the 
1-license to-morrow. 

Sal Slope. You ith just a dandy boy. — Come on, 
we muth get theth thingth home before it ith too dark 
or thome one will think we thole 'em. {She grabs 
sack, shoulders it and starts out. Hal follows her with 
a cider jug in each hand. James Maul enters rather 
unsteadily with Maria following. She is a thin^ raw- 
boned personage. Thru long suifering she has attained 
peace.) 

Maul. Come on, Maria! We'll never get home 
this way. {He jerks her towards him.) I'm against 



ON THE WABASH. 85 

such doin's, such debauchery, such eatin' an' drinkin' ! 
Why, Si Cart must think the voters of SpUgo County 
are worse'n hogs. Sweet cider ! It didn't taste very 
sweet to me, although I did drink more'n forty glasses. 
{He leans over gate. She stands patiently behind 
him.) It had a dash of them nail bitters in it, I bet. 
Si's a slick one, if he don't know how to run the post- 
office. I never get my mail right ! — Now he's gone and 
lost a registered package for me, — or some of his help 
has stolen it. {He knocks on door.) But I'm goin' to 
get it or make trouble, that's what. 

Samantha {appearing) . Well? 

Maul. Where's Si Cart? I want to see him on 
business, and no monkey- work either. I'm tired of 
the way he has been losing my mail, and I'm going to 
make a kick. 

Samantha. He's gone back to the barbecue. You 
should have met him on the lane. 

Maul. Well, we didn't, did we, Maria? {She 
shakes her head forlornly.) He must have seen me 
coming and dodged. — I'll wait right here until he gets 
back. {Sits down.) 

Samantha. Yes; do sit down. Won't you come 
in? {Mrs. Maul shakes her head.) Well, make your- 
self at home. He won't be gone long. 

Maul. You don't need to tell me anything about 
him. I know him better than you do! He's a smooth 
politician with a serpent's tongue. He thinks he can fool 
'em all, — but here's one he can't. He can't pull the 
wool over my eyes any more, — can he, Maria? {She 
shakes her head.) 



86 ON THE WABASH. 

Samantha. What was the nature of your pack- 
age? Was it very valuable? 

Maul. That's for me to know. It wasn't trash or 
it wouldn't have been registered. He's got to fix it up 
with me or I'll have the law on him. I've got a clue 
where it is. If he don't find it and send it by special 
delivery, I'll make my own search — and with a war- 
rant, too. He's emiployed too many dude clerks in that 
post-office for his own good. 

Samantha. You don't mean Freddie Mills ? He is 
a little queer, but then Si raised him, you might say, 
from a baby, and overlooks a lot in him that he 
wouldn't in anyone else. 

Maul. Freddie Mills is a gentleman. It's no mat- 
ter who I mean. It'll all come out in the government 
investigation under the postal inspector. But some- 
body better get busy before that time, if he doesn't 
want to see the inside of four walls. Maria, what you 
standing there for ? Didn't I tell you to go on and get 
supper ? (He jerks her out. An aggregation of rustics 
follow, occasionally giving vent to a "Whoopee", ''Hur- 
rah for Si Cart". Tobe Stoodenwhacker enters.) 

Samantha. Well, Tobe Stoodenwhacker! It's a 
wonder you wouldn't say howdy to your ma ! 

Tobe {broadly). Howdy, ma! How's all the folks? 

Samantha. They're better'n you be, you bad pen- 
ny! {She pulls his ear admiringly.) I've heard tell 
how you're getting to be a regular politicianer. — Going 
to jail seems to agree with you as much as it did with 
your poor old dad ! 

Tobe. When you suffer for a good cause, you gain 
by it, mother. 



ON THE WABASH. 87 

Samantha. Well, I'm glad you're out, anyhow. It 
was getting awful lonesomle here. (Stops in alarm.) 
But I smell the meat a-burning! (She rushes into 
house.) 

Hank Fox (comes in, stops, extends hand to Tobe). 
Put 'er there, pard. We turned the trick, we did. The 
post-office is ours ! It's me for Si's place and you for 
Ned's. There'll be some sore Reubs in Wauseon, I'm 
thinking. 

ToBE (Tidth glasses pushed up on his forehead and his 
hat on the back of his head). But do you think that is 
the proper place for a poet? I hardly know whether 
to accept your offer or not. I'm in a quandary. 

Hank. Haint a poet as good as a durned orator? 
(He comes thru gate and stands by table, and empha- 
sises his remarks by pounding on the table zuith his 
^st.) I'll not have that long- whiskered jay from Bau- 
go Township in there long. The first slip he makes, 
I'll nail him. Then Tobe, my boy, you jump in! I 
like you, I do, if you are a natural. You see, you 
can't help it, being a son of old Hi Stoodenwhacker, 
the orneriest mule driver in the army. You don't re- 
member him, do you ? 

Tobe. No ; he died when I was quite young. 

Hank. Well, him and me were bunkies in Com- 
pany F, 22nd Indiana Artillery. We were always fight- 
ing about our blanket. He 'lowed I wanted it all. One 
night at Chickamauga, we fought over it something 
terrible. "Cut it in two", says he. "Cut it in two", 
says I. So cut it in two we did. After that we 
got along peaceful as two clams. The boys used to call 
him "Cut-it-in-two". But he was true blue, — ^he was, 
true blue! (Sits dozim and wipes his eyes.) You are 



88 ON THE WABASH. 

just like your dad ; same weak eyes, — can't look a gun 
in the face, — but true blue — true blue ! {He sleeps, his 
head on the table.) 

ToBE {goes to door and tries to open it, — it resists, 
he shakes it resentfully). Hey there! 

Pauline {appearing). It's a wonder you wouldn't 
shake the house down. {Turns on porch-light — spies 
Hank.) Why, who in the world is that? 

ToBE. It's Hank Fox. He's tired out from the con- 
vention. We nominated Si for Congress ! 

Pauline. I'm so glad. He deserves it. Hadn't 
you better bring him in the house and let him sleep 
on the sofa, poor fellow? 

ToBE {shakes Hank). Hey, wake up! {No re- 
sponse. An idea strikes him.) Cut it in two) Cut it 
in two! 

Hank {jumps up). All right, you blanket hog, — 
I'll cut it in two for you. {Reaches for his knife.) 

ToBE. We can get the shears in the house. {He 
leads Hank to door ) 

Hank. You're just a joshing me like your dad, — 
but he was true blue, true blue! {Tobe gets him in, 
conies out and closes door.) 

To'BE. He'll fall asleep as soon as he touches the 
lounge. 

Pauline. Of course ! Politics is such a strenuous 
affair. I'm glad it's over and that you won out. You 
must feel like a regular conqueror. 

Tqibe {at bench). So I do. But the campaign's only 
begun. There's a pile of work between convention and 
election. 



ON THE WABASH. 89 

Pauline {gets up). There's a pile of work right 
here. Your mother will have her hands full; such a 
big company's coming. 

ToBE {comes to her). You can help her after while. 
I want you here for a minute first. 

Pauline {in alarm). Why, Tobe, how dififerently 
you talk from what you used to ! You are so positive. 
You must have suffered terribly in that prison to have 
caused such a change in you. 

Tobe. ^ I learned to speak up for myself, that's all. 
I found if I didn't, no one else would. Pauline, I want 
to ask you a question. 

Pauline. Are you sure you do, to-night? Hadn't 
you better wait ? 

Tobe. Maybe I've waited too long already ! I — I— 

Pauline. Yes ? 

Tobe. I want to talk to your mother about you. 

Pauline. You can, Fm sure. But why do you want 
to see her first ? Can't you tell me ? 

Tobe. I — I thought I could, but I can't. 

Pauline. It must be a terribly hard question. Does 
it have anything to do with me? 

Tobe. Yes. 

Pauline. And anyone else ? 

Tobe. Yes. 

Pauline. I wonder who? 

Tobe. Why, with me, of course. I want to get 
married. 

Pauline. To get married? Not right away, do 
you? 

Tobe {taking hold of her). I want to marry you. 



90 ON THE WABASH. 

Pauline (trying to release herself). Tobe, let me 
go! {She struggles in vain. He kisses her. She 
breaks loose and runs to the front door.) I'll tell your 
ma on you, that's what I'll do! (Slams door.) 

Tobe. Whew! (He puts his hands in his pockets 
— paces back and forth — stops irresolutely and then 
dashes into the house. ) 

Si (entering from the zcoods zmth Ned). Did you 
see Tobe? I believe he's actually got some spunk in 
him, after all. 

Ned. Oh, Tobe's all right! I knew he would come 
out of his shell. All he lacked was opportunity. 

Si. That thirty days in jail seems to have been his 
opportunity! He lined up those Baugo kickers in 
great shape. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I 
owe my nomination to him. 

Ned. Nonsense! You owe it to yourself, and to 
promising the deputyship to their boss, — instead of to 
Tobe. 

Si. Perhaps I do. (They sit.) But I'll see that 
Tobe's taken care of just the same. 

Ned. You haven't told me what you intend to do 
with regard to my case. — You're letting your victory 
overshadow my defeat. 

Si. Get me a telegraph blank! — Wait! Here — 
(Reaches in his pocket, pulls out a slip of paper, takes 
a pencil and begins to write.) Tobe's poem! I hate 
to mutilate a work of art like that ; but I've got to 
do it. (Scratches his head.) Let's see, that's eleven 
words. (Crosses out one. Hands paper to Ned.) 
How's that? 



ON THE WABASH. 91 

Ned (reads). "Mr. Melancthon Knowles, Presi- 
dent 3d National Bank, Indianapolis. Papa wants 
Ned for Secretary at Washington. Please wire con- 
sent. Gwennie Cart, daughter of Si Cart. Nominee 
for Congress 14th Dist. Indiana." Why do you sign 
her name instead of yours ? I don't quite understand — 

Si. Never mind, sonny! If that doesn't stir up 
your old man, my name is not Si Cart. (Boys go 
thru lane returning from barbecue.) Here, lad, take 
this down to the telegraph office and tell them I said 
"Rush". Wait, here's a nickel. (Boy grins and takes 
message and runs out left.) And now I must break 
the good news to Samantha. She'll be glad to hear it. 
(On the porch.) Is there anyone in there that you'd 
like particularly to see? If there is, I might send her 
out to look at — the moonshine, — eh? (He chuckles 
and enters house. In a moment Gwennie appears.) 

Gwennie (discovering Ned in the shade of the 
tree). Why, Ned, are you ill? Father said you were 
took bad with ingrowing pains. 

Ned (faking grandly). Yes, Gwennie, and so I am. 
I've a pain right here. (Points to his heart.) Home- 
sick. I want to go back and see my folks. 

Gwennie (sitting dozvn beside him). And leave me 
here all alone? 

Ned. I'll try and get their consent to come back to 
you. 

Gwennie. You would meet some pretty girl in 
your set — some society belle — and you would soon for- 
get all about poor me. 

Ned. Never ! Do I look like a society man ? 



92 ON THE WABASH. 

GwENNiE. Yes, you would ! You'd put down your 
experience here as a little harmless flirtation — like 
some of your others. You wouldn't think how it 
effects me; — you wouldn't care, either. 

Ned. Do you take me for a brute? I'll never for- 
get you, I swear it. 

GwENNiE. How many times have you sworn to that 
before? 

Ned. Well— I— (Stops.) I never, that is, I— 

GwENNiE. There ! You see I've caught you ! You 
daren't deny it. 

Ned. How about you ? Didn't you ever let another 
fellow make love to you? Are you positive I'm the 
first? 

GwENNiE. Letting and doing are two different 
things. I'm not to blame for how others act. 

Ned. a woman lets, a man does. You're in the 
same boat with me. 

GwiENNiE. A woman can't help being loved ; a man 
can help making love. 

Ned. There is a test — a different one than you are 
applying. 

Gwennie. a test? 

Ned. Yes ; whether one pretends or really feels. I 
have been carried away at times by gusts of passion; 
but then nature is full of squalls. What one does in 
cold blood is all that really counts. 

Gwennie. Are you still speaking of love? I hardly 
understand you. 



ON THE WABASH. _ 93 

Ned (standing before her). Then I'll make it plain. 
I want you for my wife, and I want you for my com- 
panion. I can't get along without you, and I don't be- 
lieve you want to get along without me. 

GwENNiE. But it doesn't seem possible. Your folks 
may not like me; they may be ashamed of me; I 
shouldn't look to any one so much higher than I am. 

Ned. Higher! Fiddle sticks! What have I done 
that puts so much distance between us ? Nothing. The 
fact that I have an old curmudgeon for a dad, who has 
cut me off without a cent, makes me your inferior; 
you, with your really fine father. No, Gwennie; you 
are mine; you can't hold out. You gave me back my 
old self, my old courage, my old independence. I 
don't care whether my folks ever take me back or not, 
— I can get along without their help now, — but I know 
one thing ; if they do take me back, they've got to take 
you with me. (He draws her to him. James Maul^ 
Hal Whopp, Sal Slope, villagers, rustics, etc., enter 
zuith village hand. Cheers and calls for Si Cart, "Our 
Next Congressman". Ned leaves Gwennie and stands 
on porch. To crowd'.) What do you want? 

Crowd. "Speech from Si Cart! Our next Con- 
gressman!" {Whistles and cheers.) 

Maul. Before he makes his speech I want Ned 
Knowles to explain what he has done with my regis- 
tered package. 

Ned. Package? 

Maul. Yes, package, — the one you stole, if you 
want to know. I've been making an investigation on 
my own account ; I've sent a man down to the post- 
office to look it up. He'll be here in a minute and you 



94 ON THE WABASH. 

better make yourself scarce, if you don't want to get 
pinched or hire a substitute Hke you did before. 

Ned. I made every search for your package I could. 
Someone must have tampered with my drawer. If you 
will state its value, I'll be glad to pay you double its 
worth. But if you intend to accuse me of theft, you'll 
have to prove it. 

Maul. I'll prove it all right, — you just wait and see. 

Ned. You will? By whom? 

Maul. Here he is now ! 

Freddie (runs in breathlessly with Ned's working 
coat). Here it is! (Hands coat to Maul.) You'll 
find it in the right hand pocket. — He hid it there. 

Maul (to Ned). Is this your coat? 

Ned. It certainly is ; — my working coat. Where 
did you find it? I've missed it ever since Tobe went 
away. 

Maul (feeling in coat, pulls out registered pack- 
age). Can you explain what this is doing in your 
pocket ? 

Ned (cooly). Certainly. Freddie Mills put it there 
and then hid my coat. (Presents him with a register 
book.) Please sign here. 

Maul (reluctantly signing). But, but — I don't 
like to settle the trouble like that. 

Ned (pleasantly) . It's all right. (Tearing off wrap- 
per and discovering a bottle.) Whiskey! — That's what 
I thought! Now you can stand treat to the crowd. 
You ought to after what you said. 

Maul. No, you don't! That's my snake medicine! 
Here, Maria, take care of it. (She takes bottle and 
wraps it in her apron.) You know, we have to be pre- 



ON THE WABASH. 95 

pared for accidents down on the marsh. But I'll get 
even with you yet. {He goes out with Maria.) 

Ned {to Freddie Mills). You better trot along after 
them. He may make an exception and invite you, as 
long as you're a member of his party. 

Freddie. You got out of it again ; you won't the 
next time ! You better watch out ! {He leaves.) 

Si {appearing in doorzvay). What appears to be 
the matter? {Cries of ''Speech", "Speech". Mrs. 
Stoodemuhacker, Pauline, Tobe, and Hank Fox come 
out and stand behind Si; Gwennie and Ned stand by 
lower end of porch.) But — but — I made my speech 
this afternoon, — that's all I know. {Applause and 
cheers. He comes to Ned.) Tell me what to say, — 
help me out, and I'll give you anything you want. 

Ned. I want Gwennie. 

Si. Take her and God bless you, but get me out of 
this scrape. 

Ned {to Si). Friends, neighbors, and fellow citi- 
zens — ■ 

Si {repeating) . Neighbors and fellow citizens — 

Ned. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now — 

Si. If you have ears, prepare to shed them now — 
{Applause.) 

Ned. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

Si {stooping down to Ned). You'll have to repeat 
that. 

Ned {whispers in his ear). 

Si. I come to praise Caesar, not to bury him. 
{Cheers and applause. To Ned.) That's pretty good, 
— give 'em some more. 



96 ON THE WABASH. 

Ned. That's all I know. I've forgotten the rest. 

Si. Oh, hell! (Tttriiing to Tohe.) Think of some- 
thing, Tobe, quick. 

ToBE. Give 'em my poem. 

Si {turns to crozi^d). 

From your eyes divine, 
Love lights shine, 
The beauty of the rose 
Is in your pose, 
And will you pose for me — my lily? 
(Cheers. He turns back.) I can't do it! It's too 
cruel. You try it, Hank I 

Hank. Boys ! Haint you had enough fun tor- 
mentin' Si Cart? You all know that he can't make a 
speech. Why did you come up here and badger him 
for? He'll make you a good representative as they 
run — blamed sight better than you deserve ! — Now, get 
out, every one of you, and go home to your mas. 

Bill Popp. What we want to know is who's going 
to be our next postmaster. 

Hank. If that's all, I'll tell you. It's me. (Ap- 
plause. Cries of ''Hurrah for Hank Fox". The 
crozud leaves.) 

Si (shakes hands with Hank). Hank, you're the 
man of the hour. I wish there were two post-offices 
in Wauseon ; I'd give you both of 'em. 
. Samantha. If you're thru with your tormented 
foolishness, come in to supper. The victuals is all get- 
ting dried up, I swan. (All go into the house save 
Tobe and Pauline.) 

ToBE. Oh, Pauline, I haven't told you that I sold 
one of my poems while I was away. 



ON THE WABASH. 97 

Pauline. No, did you? For how much? 

ToBE. For $10.00, and I got the money, too. I 
want to apologize to you for the way I acted. Will 
you forgive me? 

Pauline. I will if you won't try to repeat it. You 
know I have never been kissed before. 

To'BE. Really? Well, that was my first one, too. I 
guess it was an outburst of poetic feeling. 

Pauline. Maybe it was inspired by hard cider. 
ToBE. Well, it was good anyways, wasn't it? 
Pauline (tapping him playfully on his lips). No 
— it was bad — very bad — but come on in to supper! 

ToBE. I'm not hungry! 

Pauline. Neither am I, but we must pretend to 
be, or they'll all notice us. (She pulls him into the 
house. Boy enters, passes gate and raps on door. 
Mrs. Stoodenwhacker appears and takes a telegram 
from him.) 

Samantha. Telegram for Si Cart, I do declare ! I 
wonder who it's from? (Calls back into house.) Si- 
las I Silas Cart ! 

Si (appears eating a large sandwich). What do 
you want? (Sees boy and signs. Boy leaves.) Oh, 
a telegram. You read it ; I forgot my glasses. 

Samantha (reading). Hon. Silas Cart, 

Wauseon, Ind. 

We have elected Edward Knowles the 4th Vice- 
President of our bank. We need him at the State 
Capital, more than you do at the National Capital! — 
If he can't come alone, let him bring his wife with 
him. Melancthon Knowles. 



98 ON THE WABASH. 

Whew! — who does he mean, I wonder? Ned ain't 
married, is he? 

Si. Not yet, but it looks a Httle like he might be 
soon. ^ ill. 

Samantha. Do tell ! Not to Pauline ? 

Si. She's taken by another fellow, you ought to 
know that. 

Samantha. I thought she had taken a shine to 
Ned. 

Si. Tobe's got her all wrapped up in a little brown 
package. 

Samantha. You don't say! I'm glad to hear it, 
but that leaves me all alone. 

Si. Yes, and Gwen going to marry Ned, leaves me 
all alone, too. 

Samantha. Seeing all of 'em took so sudden makes 
me feel like crying! {She sniffs.) 

Si. Here, don't go on that way. What's the mat- 
ter of you and me hitching up double? 

Samantha. Do you really mean it, Silas? (She 
zvraps her hands in her apron.) 

Si {takes her in his arms). I do, Samantha Stood- 
cnwhacker, I do {smacks her) for better or for worse. 

Samantha. It's so sudden! But come on in and 
finish your supper; it's getting stone cold. {She takes 
his arm and leads him into the house.) 

Ned {entering by lane with Gzvennie and reading the 
telegram). Bring my wife! That's just like dad. 
When he makes up his mind he goes the whole way, 
— no half distances with him. 



ON THE WABASH. 99 j 

GwENNiE (innocently) . But who does he mean, I i 

wonder? Did you marry one of those college widows ' 

at Paul? j 

Ned. Why, Gwennie Cart! How could you ask ; 

such a question ? I may have been somewhat of a trif- I 

ler, but trifling with matrimony was not one of my ! 

faults. This is my first ofifense. (Holds her out ivith j 

both arms and looks at her admiringly.) ■ 

Gwennie. I hope it will be your last one, too. \ 

Ned. So do I ! I guess it will be, since I've re- ■ 

formed. \ 

Gwennie. Since I've reformed you, you mean. 

Your father will be proud of you now. ; 

Ned. And of you, too. He likes dark eyes just as \ 

well as I do! ' 

Gwennie. Oh, Ned, you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself I 

Ned. Yes, I ought to, but I'm not. ! 

Gwennie. *'And you have only gone with me thinth i 

dog dayth!" \ 



Arthur Sonlen 

A Comedy in Three Acts 
Price 50 cents. Paper Covers. 



This play has been read and pubHcly or privately 
commented on by a number of the leading literary men 
and women of the United States and England. Critics 
are divided into two camps ; those who denounce it 
virulently, and those who praise it highly. No one 
interested in drama should miss reading the play. 



"Arthur Sonten deals humorously, facetiously and \ 

at the same time seriously with present-day life." — The 
South Bend Neim. i 

* * * * I 

i 
"The play might be truthfully characterized as real- \ 

istic." — The New York Call. 1 



For copies, terms of production, etc., address 
THE STAGE SOCIETY, 

SOUTH BEND, INDIANA. 



ANNOUNCEMENT. 

In the realistic comedy of "Arthur Sonten" the playwright 
has endeavored to picture three stages in the mental evolu- 
tion of an artist. The first act shows him as a boy just awak- 
ening into manhood. His environment is in a strictly puri- 
tanical home of the orthodox Christian religion. He is so 
affected by his surroundings that he gives his heart to Christ, 
only to learn in the dramatic day of his baptism, that pro- 
fession and practice are widely different matters. In the sec- 
ond act the artist's tendency to idealism is displayed by his 
joining the Socialist party and instead of postponing the 
day of grace until the hereafter, he endeavors to help bring 
it about on this earth. Again he meets conditions that make 
for his disillusionment, and under strong pressure from with- 
in he hands in his resignation. — The third act shows him find- 
ing himself in work of his own choice, — painting humanity as 
a scientist paints nature, with disregard for everything except 
the truth. He realizes that this course is difficult, and beset 
with many almost insurmountable obstacles, but he grimly 
resolves to stick to his course, for on this road lies happiness. 

The play is more cheerful than the realistic works of the 
19th century, for the author is a materialistic monist, and 
teaches that life is best lived in continual fight for intellec- 
tual development. 

While "Arthur Sonten" has been compared with some of 
the works of Hauptmann and of Shaw, we feel that it is 
superior in its philosophical aspect to any of the plays of 
these leading contemporary dramatists, and at the same time 
compares favorably with the realism of the German's plays, 
and the humor of the Irishman's. The fact that our author is 
making some impression in the world of dramatic values can 
be gathered from the long reviews that have been given "Ar- 
thur Sonten" in "The Green Book Magazine," in "The New 



York Call," etc., and from the private letters of such well- 
known figures in the radical and literary world as Emma 
Goldman, Mary Marcy, Jack London, Paul Grummann, Ar- 
thur C. Fifield, William Marion Reedy, Israel Zangwill, and 
Joseph McCabe. Without advertising or production, the com- 
edy already is better known to the intellectual and dramatic 
world than many current "successes" on the purely commer- 
cial stage. Mr. Dunbar's work is mainly adapted to the 
advanced theatre and to societies which are active in progres- 
sive movements. Yet among his list of plays, several are 
destined to become popular, — "On the Wabash" among them. 

This Society has among its plans the production of sev- 
eral of these plays in the near future. In the meantime it 
has its work cut out for it in the publication of the dramas. 
It feels that publication should precede production in this day 
of universal reading, and that the Society will be the gainer 
by obtaining the benefit of stimulating criticism. Only those 
plays which are so lacking in truth as to be unable to stand 
the ordeal of print, prefer to see the stage before they view 
the press. Romantic and idealistic authors naturally shrink 
from the test of cold type ; realistic ones court it, for if the 
criticism is true, they adopt it ; if it is false, they tolerate it. 

We make this announcement of our purpose here as we feel 
it will do good, for we seek co-laborers and helpers in the 
work of civilizing the stage. We are on the dawn of a new 
movement, the movement of the international comity of let- 
ters. Science knows no country ; its discoveries are adopted 
by the world as soon as announced. So with letters and 
art; they have lost their particular national character and 
have become world-appealing. Haeckel's "The Riddle of the 
Universe" has been translated into every well-known tongue 
and covers the earth. 

The pioneer writers of any race are those who aided the 
feeling for national consciousness ; thus Aeschylus, Moliere, 
Shakespeare and Goethe. After the nations are born, they 
need authors of wider appeal than mere boundary lines. So 



we have Darwin, Spencer and DeVries, who are cosmopolites. 
They gave universally to all they wrote and belong only acci- 
dentally to a particular land. 

The locale of "On the Wabash" is Indiana, and the color 
is true to the soil. The habitat of "Arthur Sonten" is Amer- 
ica, and fits its environment. The appeal of the former is 
more provincial, of the latter more universal. Both are des- 
tined to find their places alongside the works of the movers 
for progress; "On the Wabash", to lighten the journey; 
"Arthur Sonten" to furnish it direction. 

Any club, society or individual who feels interested in this 
work is invited to write this organization and have the name 
inscribed on its rolls for the purpose of receiving all commu- 
nications to be issued in connection with the furtherance of 
its purpose; — the spread of the spirit of internationalism in 
drama. 

THE STAGE SOCIETY, 

ODD fellows' block. 

South Bend, Indiana. 



Tribune Printing Co. 



South Bend, Indiana. 



W^ il^i ■■>; 



